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WAR-BALLADS 

and 

VERSES 


BY 

WILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS 


SAN  BERNARDINO,  CALIFORNIA 
THE  BARNUM  &  FLAGG  COMPANY 

1917 

Copyright 


Of  One  Heart 

April  20,  1917. 

SIDE  by  side  the  banners  stood 
In  the  great  Cathedral  Choir — 
Sign  of  two  nations'  common  blood, 
Two  nations'  one  desire. 

Side  by  side,  to  the  breeze  unfurled 

'Neath  Heaven's  canopy, 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  of  the  Western  World, 

And  the  Union  Jack,  flew  free. 

Whether  as  call  or  orison, 

They  spoke  of  brotherhood — 
Of  hearts  that  beat  in  unison, 

Seeking  a  world-wide  Good. 

They  prayed,  and  pray,  for  Victory; 

Aye,  and  they  call  to  fight; 
Yes,  but  the  cause  is  Liberty: 

The  fight  is  for  the  Right. 


CONTENTS 

Page 
Of  One  Heart 3 

Names  to  Conjure  With 7 

Caritas  Human!  Generis 8 

E  Pluribus  Vnum 10 

Heroes    11 

Bellerophons  12 

En  Avant 13 

They  Also  Serve 14 

Virtutis  Causa  15 

Sea-Dogs  16 

Non-Combatants    17 

Noms  de  Guerre 18 

Irrepressibles 19 

Runners   20 

Some  Keepsake  24 

A  Man  of  War 25 

The  Call  of  the  Drum 26 

Off  the  Breton  Coast 28 

In  the  Bay  of  Biscay 29 

In  the  Straits  of  Otranto 31 

A  Ballad  of  the  Grand  Fleet 33 

Hail!  Canada  34 

Our  Dead  35 

NOTE — For  details  of  the  facts  which  suggested  the  ballade 
contained  in  this  booklet  see  The  Times  History  of  the  War ; 
The  National  Review  of  July,  1917  ;  The  Illustrated  London  News 
of  June  23,  1917  ;  The  Graphic  of  May  26,  1917. 


Names  to  Conjure  With 

SOME  songsters  sing  of  maidens'  charms, 
Of  lovers'  trysts  on  moon-lit  shore, 
But  when  our  Country  stands  in  arms, 

What  shall  we  sing  but  songs  of  war? 

In  days  of  old,  when  Persia's  swarms 

Swept  westward,  spreading  death  and  wrack, 
All  that  was  Hellas  sprang  to  arms, 

And  hurled  the  fell  invader  back. 

What  time  the  Syrian  tyrant  sought 
To  stamp  out  Israel's  ancient  creed, 

The  Maccabaean  patriots  fought 

Till  hearths  and  homes  and  faith  were  freed. 

The  tales  that  tell  how  Switzerland 

Threw  off  the  Austrian  tyranny, 
Lit  up  by  names  heroic,  stand 

Bright  on  the  page  of  history. 

Ah,  words  that  were  as  tongues  of  flame — 

Sempach,  Bethhoron,  Marathon — 
Are  ye  but  names  now?    Has  your  fame 

Passed  into  cold  oblivion? 

Nay;  ye  are  words  still  tipped  with  fire; 

Still  are  ye  as  a  trumpet-call; 
Ye  prompt  our  cry  of  righteous  ire — 

"To  arms!     To  arms!     The  Hun  must  fall". 


8 


Caritas  Humani  Generis 

THE  war-call  rings  across  the  sea; 
"To  Arms"!  the  paean  cries; 
'Tis  Right's  demand;  'tis  Freedom's  plea; 

Tis  Truth  denouncing  lies. 
Sons  of  Columbia,  shall  their  claim 
Find  you  as  freemen  but  in  name? 

What's  Freedom's  part?     To  seek  our  own? 

Is  that  true  liberty? 
Nay;  not  for  its  own  sake  alone 

Is  any  soul  made  free; 
Free! — 'tis  the  children's  epithet, 
And  that  means  claims  that  must  be  met. 

Parents  and  children,  each  to  each, 

Owe  love  and  sympathy; 
Friendships  may  end  or  suffer  breach; 

The  blood-bond  cannot  die; 
Mankind  are  God's  great  family, 
And  woe  to  them  who  flout  that  tie! 

The  service  of  Humanity — 

Of  souls  by  ills  beset — 
That's  duty  in  epitome, 

And  duty  means  a  debt; 
Debts  must  be  paid;    aye,  and  the  call 
Of  Charity  comes  first  of  all. 

Abou  Ben  Adhem,  as  he  slept, 

Saw  how,  in  Heaven's  purview, 

The   second  great   commandment  kept 
Means  the  first  rule  kept  too; 

"Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?     I?" 

That  is  a  Cain's  apology. 


Half-dead  upon  a  hill-side  road 

A  wounded  traveller  lay; 
Levite  and  Priest  saw  him,  and  strode 

Serenely  on  their  way; 
'Twas  left  to  a  Samaritan 
To  save  from  death  that  wounded  man. 

Both  Priest  and  Levite  would  have  pled 

Privilege   as   their   plea; 
They  feared  defilement — they'd  have  said — 

Some  loss  of  sanctity; 
With  them  self-interest  came  first — 
Excuse  of   all   excuses  worst. 

"Our  Country  first",  some  voices  cry; 

If  that  means,  "Motherland 
Has  higher  claims  than  family 

Or  self",  the  cry  will  stand; 
What  if  it  means,  "Let  the  world  slide, 
So  long  as  we  and  ours  abide"? 

Nay;  the  world's  Good,  the  rule  of  Right, 

Truth,  Honour,  Charity— 
These  things  come  first,  and  they  who  fight 

For  world-wide   equity — 
For  weaklings  by  the  strong  down-trod — 
Fulfil  their  duty  unto  God. 

True  children  these,  and  not  less  true 

They  who,  to  serve  God's  will, 
Under  the  Red  Cross  ensign  do 

Their  work,  and  witness  still, 
As  erst  the  Good  Samaritan, 
"God's  glory  is  the  good  of  Man". 

NOTE — "Free"  comes  from  a  root  which  meant  "dear".  It 
distinguished  the  children  of  the  family  from  the  household 
slaves.  Hence  the  later  sense. 


T] 


10 


E  Pluribus  Vnum 

"HUS  then  we  meet  the  tyrant's  threat — 

We  of  America, 
And,  with  stern  resolution,  set 
Our  battle  in  array. 

"Old  Glory"  stands  for  Liberty; 

"Old  Glory"  stands  for  Right; 
Its  Stars  and  Stripes  speak  Unity, 

And  now  its  call  is  "Fight": 

"Fight  for  your  own,  but  fight  not  less 
For  the  world's  common  good; 

Fight  for  a  rule  of  righteousness, 
For  world-wide  brotherhood: 

"Stand,  to  withstand  the  insolence 

Of  truculent  war-lord; 
Strike,  to  beat  down  the  brute  offence 

Of  mailed  fist  and  drawn  sword: 

"For  God,  for  Honour,  for  Redress 

Of  wrongs  and  injuries, 
For  Little  Nations  in  distress — 

These  be  your  battle-cries". 

We  answer  to  that  call  and  plea, 

And  gird  us  to  the  fight; 
We  will  not  stand  for  Tyranny; 

We  will  not  fail  the  Right. 

Spirit  of  Lincoln,  shape  once  more 

Our  country's  destiny, 
And  make  the  issue  of  her  war 

Triumphant  victory. 


11 


Heroes 

V.  C.'s  "for  valour" — as  we  scan 
The  tale  of  deeds  that  won  this  glory, 
Our  wonder  is  that  any  man 

Could  do  the  deeds,  could  make  the  story. 

Here,  one  man  does  the  work  of  ten, 

With  ten  men's  grit,  pluck,  self-reliance; 

There,  half  a  company  of  men 

Sets  half  a  regiment  at  defiance. 

Stories  of  Paladin  and  Knight — 

Tales  that  we  called  and  reckoned  fancies — 
Seem,  in  the  blaze  of  this  new  light, 

Not  myths,  but  true-to-life  romances. 

Scornful  of  wounds,  of  risks,  of  odds, 

Heroes  press  on  where  duty  calls  them; 

Say,  are  they  men  or  demigods, 

Whom  naught  rebuffs,  as  naught  appals  them? 

Just  men,  but  men  to  whom  the  sense 

Of  duty  is  an  inspiration; 
To  whom  death  means  the  expedience 

Of  one  man  dying  for  the  nation. 

This  is  the  Master's  spirit;  it 

Made  Curtius  leap  into  the  chasm; 
A  flame,  by  love  and  honour  lit, 

It  is  divine  enthusiasm. 


12 


Bellerophons 

(Flight  Sub-Lient.  R.  A.  J.  Warneford,  V.  C., 

R.  N.  A.  S.) 

NOT  now  on  land  alone  or  sea 
Does  war's  grim  conflict  fare; 
Aircraft  have  their  artillery, 
And  battle  in  mid-air. 

They  scout,  report  the  foe's  intent, 

Tackle  each  hostile  plane; 
In  fact  they  use  the  firmament 

As  it  were  land  or  main. 

On  works  that  shelter  submarines 
They  drop  their  compliments; 

They   smite  the  dirty   Zeppelins 
That  slaughter  innocents. 

Little  has  war  now  of  romance 

Upon  the  ground  below, 
Save  when  the  pipes  skirl  the  Advance, 

Or  lance-charge  breaks  the  foe  . 

But  where,  manoeuvering  in  high  air, 

The  flying  squadrons  fight, 
Or  airplane  duels  with  airplane,  there 

Is  glamour  of  war  all  right. 

The  spirit  of  the  old  mariners, 

Who  sailed  o'er  unknown  seas — 

Is  it  in  the  adventurers 

Who  dare  such  deeds  as  these  ? 


13 

If  they — and  still  Drake's  drum  is  heard — 

With  us  yet  bear  their  part, 
His  spirit,  who  singed  King1  Philip's  beard, 

Warneford,  was  in  your  heart. 

You  won  Victoria's  -Cross;  you  won 

More  than  the  prized  V.  C.; 
For  Freedom's  thanks  and  benison 

Hallow  your  memory. 

En  Avant! 

AH,  France,  fair  France — never  more  fair 
Than  now  when,  in  your  agony, 
You  face  the  Hun;  your  gallantry 
Is  beauty  such  as  Spirits  wear. 

We  watched  you  at  Verdun,  and  there, 

As  your  thinned  ranks  smote  Prussia's  pride, 
Saw  what  you  are — how  fair,  and  cried, 

"C'est  magnifique,  et  c'est  la  guerre". 

"The  Old  Guard  dies" — 'twas  said  of  yore — 
"Aye,  but  surrenders  not";  that  soul 
Is  yours,  and,  while  the  ages  roll, 

Shall  be  the  glory  of  your  war. 

It  never  dies — that  Gallic  mood: 
It  was  in  Amadis,   La  Pucelle, 
Roland,  Bayard;   Kelt  and  Ga*el 

Bred  it  in  France;  it's  in  the  blood. 

Not  vain  your  stand;  now  comes  the  Advance; 

The  Hun  gives  way;  his  doom  is  nigh; 

Upon  him  with  your  chivalry, 
And  hurl  him  headlong!   VIVE  LA  FRANCE! 


14 

"They  Also  Serve  Who  Only  Stand 
and  Wait" 

(Boy  J.  T.  Cornwell,  V.  C.,  H.  M.  S.  "Chester".) 

HALL-MARK  of  the  heroic  soul, 
And  stamp  of  chivalry, 
"For  Valour"  stands  upon  the  scroll 
Of  the  V.  C. 

It  pictures  warriors  in  the  fight, 

In  battle's  fierce  pell-mell, 
Or  Red  Cross  knights  at  work,  despite 

Bullet  and  shell. 

Valour — it  is  a  word  that  speaks 

Of  strength,  of  manhood's  crown — 

Strength  that  beats  back  offence,  and  breaks 
Defiance  down. 

Yet  women  have  been  valorous,  for 

True  valour  is  of  the  heart; 
And  one  mere  lad  at  Jutland  bore 

A  hero's  part. 

Wounded  to  death  right  at  the  start, 

He  yet  stuck  to  his  post, 
Waiting  for  orders;  his  brave  heart 

Recked  not  the  cost. 

He  takes  his  place  among  the  Three, 

Staunch  as  their  ironclads, 
Who  on  that  day  won  the  V.  C. — 

This  lad  of  lads. 


15 

Ah,  Sailor  Boy,  you  died,  'tis  true, 
But  lives  thus  given  live  on; 

Your  life  laid  down  meant  life  for  you 
Not  lost,  but  won. 


Virtutis  Causa 

(Piper  D.  Laidlaw,  V.  C.,  K.  0.  S.  Borderers) 

I  AND  of  my  forbears,  how  shall  I, 
•^    An  exile  on  a  foreign  strand, 
Tell  out  your  manhood's  gallantry: 

Their  doughty  deeds  on  sea  and  land? 

Yet,  for  at  times  some  news  comes  thro' 
To  these  far  parts,  I  can  record 

A  deed,  not  less  of  derring-do 

Than   bayonet-charge   or   stroke   of   sword. 

The  King's  Own  Scottish  Borderers  stood 
In  act  to  rush  a  Prussian  trench — 

To  rush  it  thro'  a  hell  that  would 
Have  made  a  salamander  blench. 

Half-choked  by  gas,  one  company 
Wavered  a  moment  as  in  doubt; 

The  pause  caught  Piper  Laidlaw's  eye, 

Who  promptly  straightened  matters  out. 

• 

Upon  the  parapet  he  sprang, 

And,  strutting  calmly  to  and  fro, 

Made  the  pipes  speak;  their  music  rang 
A  slogan  to  the  lads  below. 


16 

"The  Standard  on  the  Braes  of  Mar" 

Lifted  them,  thrilled  them,  swept  them  on, 

Till  from  the  avalanche  of  their  war 

The  Prussians  fled;  the  trench  was  won. 

He  skirled  away  their  doubt;  he  skirled 
Them  thro'  that  hell  to  victory; 

They  would  have  charged  across  the  world 
After   his   pipes — that   company. 

Piper  and  pipes  required  repairs, 
Later;  the  pipes,  for  all  to  see, 

Are  set  in  silver;  Laidlaw  wears 
A  cross  that  labels  him  V.  C. 


WHAT  of  our  ships — our  mighty  Battle-Fleet? 
What  has  it  done  thus  far  in  this  world-war? 
Has  it  made  history  that  shall  repeat 

The  fame  of  Gravelines  and  of  Trafalgar? 

The   fight   off   Jutland — aye,   a   gallant   fight — 

And  some  few  tussles  in  the  Northern  Sea: — 

That    seems    its    published   record.      Has    its    might 
Done  nothing  else  to  match  its  majesty  ? 

The  shores  of  Britain  and  of  France  kept  free 
From    trespass   of   invasion;    host   on   host 

Of  fighting  men   and  of   artillery 

Sent  withput  loss  or  hurt  from  coast  to  coast: 

Our  seas  patrolled:  blockaded  Germany: 

Trade  routes  protected:  U-boats  sunk  or  caught: 

Armed  raiders  hunted  down  from  sea  to  sea: — 

At  business  such  as  this  our  Fleet  has  wrought. 


17 

What  sort  of  work  has  this  meant?     ¥/ork  of  brain 
Not  less  than  work  of  heart  and  hand  and  eye: 

A  vigilance  as  of  watch-dogs:  the  long  strain 
Of   ceaseless,  tireless,   patient   energy. 

A  burden  of  responsibility 

Such  as  no  navy  ever  bare  before — 
That  is  the  weight  our  War-Fleet  bears;  'twould  try 

The  strength  of  Atlas,  and  the  might  of  Thor. 

Seamen  of  Britain,  we,  whom  Britain  claims 
As  her  own  children,  doff  our  hats  to  you; 

And,  on  the  scroll  that  bears  the  mighty  names 
Of  Drake  and  Nelson,  set  your  record  too. 

/von-  Com  ba  tan  ts 

NOT  warriors  only  win  and  wear 
The  cross  that  bears  Victoria's  name; 
Doctors  and  chaplains  do  and  dare 

As  valiant  deeds,  and  share  their  fame. 

Aye,  in  the  battle's  very  heart, 

On  ground  swept  by  artillery, 
These  sons  of  peace  have  borne  their  part 

With   all   a  warrior's   gallantry. 

Each    in    the    order    of    his    work, 
They,  in  the  open,  under  fire, 

Rescue   and   help;    they   never   shirk 
Or  balk,  and  never  seem  to  tire. 

It's   shortened  now  by  many  a   gap — 

The  roll  of  the  R.  A.   M.  €.; 
It  makes  no  matter;  hap  what  hap, 

They  carry  on   their  ministry. 


18 

The  Red  Cross  on  our  side  displayed 

Attracts,  too  oft,  the  Prussian's  aim; 

By  them,  ah  shame!  it  has  been  made 
A  blind;  yet  Britain  plays  the  game. 

And   so   among  the   names,  that  claim 
Place  in  the  roll  of  our  V.  C/s, 

Are  names  of  heroes,  \yhose  high  fame 
Is  just  a  tale  of  ministries. 

Noms  De  Guerre 

THEY   make   their   own  Tanks   now — the   French; 
Tanks  that  are  quite  all  right; 
They'll  smash  thro'  wire;  they'll  rush  a  trench; 
They'll  stand  fire,  and  they'll  fight. 

They're  named  "Patte  de  Velours",  "Mounette", 

"Maleche",  et  caete^ra; 
E.   g.,   one   bears   the   etiquette 

Ironic — "Pourquoi   pas?" 

When  Job  was  living,   a  war-horse 

Was  said  to  neigh  "Ha,  Ha"; 
To-day  this  Gallic  Tank,  of  course, 

Challenges,  "Pourquoi  pas?" 

While  British  Tanks  are   doing  their  stunt 

By  Ypres  and  Arras, 
Their  French  mates  on  the  Champagne  Front 

Do  ditto.    Pourquoi  pas? 

French  planes  and  British  tumble  Fritz 

Headlong  du  haut  en  bas; 
French  Tanks   and   British   give  them   fits 

Below.    Et  pourquoi  pas  ? 


19 

"Patte  de  Velours"  ?     Well,  she,  I  guess, 
Has   claws   that   are   as   cats', 

Sheathed,  as  it  were,  in  velvet;   yes; 
But   cats    are   death   on   rats. 

Ah,  Tanks  of  France,  if  there  were  need, 

I'd  wish  you  added  might; 
I  wish  you,  as  it  is,  "Good  Speed", 

And  triumph  in  the  fight. 

And  as  for  you,  whose  soubriquet 
Is  that  grim  "Pourquoi  pas?", 

I  send  you,  tho'  I'm  far  away, 
A  British  cheer — "Hurrah!" 


Irrepressibles 

SIX  thousand  unattached  Marins, 
Formed  into  a  brigade, 
Were  sent  by  the  French  Admiralty 

To  bring  the  Belgians  aid. 
Their  Brigadier,  as  well  beseemed, 

Was  Admiral  Ronarc'h: 
A  gallant  soul,  in  whom  there  dwelt 

The  spirit  of  Jeanne  d'Arc: 
The  fire  of  Keltic  chivalry, 

Of  valour  quick  and  stark. 

Just  Breton  lads,  for  the  most  part, 

They  were,  and  under  age; 
But  all,  from  Admiral  downward,  shared 

One  goodly  heritage, 
For  theirs  were  Breton  hearts,  and  theirs 

The  old  Breton  courage. 


20 

They  went  to  Ghent  to  bar  the  way 

Against  the  Huns'  advance; 
They  fought  at  Melle,  and  there  upheld 

The  name  and  fame  of  France. 
Then  Antwerp  fell,  and  they  were  sent 

Off  to  Dixmuiden,  there 
To  hold  the  town,  and  guard  from  breach 

The  line  of  the  Yser. 

"Hold  on  for  two  days,  if  you  can" — 

The  Admiral  was  told; 
For  near  a  month  he  stoutly  kept 

The  Belgian  stronghold — 
Kept  it  against  a  foe  whose  force 

Outnumbered  his  ten-fold. 

What  did  that  mean  ?    It  meant  that  Krupp 

Guns  showered  their  shot  and  shell, 
Day  after  day,  on  them,  and  made 

The  little  town  a  hell. 
It  meant  that,  horde  by  horde,  the  Huns 

Swept  onward  to  the  attack, 
And  that  each  furious  assault 

Was  met,  and  beaten  back. 

All  this  for  near  a  month;  at  last, 

Tho'  not  till  Yser's  flood, 
Let  in,  had  fortified  the  line — 

The  gap  that  they  made  good — 
This  band  of  heroes  quit  the  post, 

Now  hallowed  by  their  blood. 

France  gave  them  for  their  gallantry 

A  banner  of  their  own; 
And  still,  by  one  battalion 


21 

Guarded,  that  flag  is  flown: 
An  echo  and  a  memory 

Of  Roland's  gonfalone. 

O  Fusiliers  Marins,  to  you 

Naught  seemed  impossible; 
Whether  as  militant  Marins, 
Or — well,  as  half -grown-up  gamins, 
You're  irresistible. 


Runners 

(Pte.  J.  Miller,  V.  C.,  Royal  Lancaster  Regt.    Pte.  L. 
E.  Mallery,  M.  M.,  Tenth  Canadian  Battalion.) 

'"FlS  parlous  work,  and  yet  it  brings 

1   Naught  of  the  joy  of  fight, 
Naught  of  the  high  romance  that  erst 

Charmed  Paladin  and  Knight: 
A  humbler  task,  a  task  that  claims 

Courage  and  caution  too: 
Caution  not  less  than  courage:  wit 

Not  less  than  derring-do — 

That  is  the  runner's  work;  he  must 

Bear  messages  at  need: 
Must  cross  the  open  oft,  and  trust 

His  luck  will  be  good  spede; 
Yet  must  he  run  no  needless  risks, 

Would  fling  his  life  away; 
Upon  his  errand's  issue  hang 

The  issues  of  the  day. 


22 

"More  haste",  the  proverb  says,  "worse  spede"- 

He  has  that  warning  pat; 
And  yet  that  counsel,  if  the  need 

Be  instant  need,  falls  flat; 
The  venture,  he  reckons,  must  be  made, 

And  he  lets  it  go  at  that. 

At  times  it  falls  to  him  to  bear 

Despatches  thro'  the  night; 
At  times  he  has  to  get  them  thro' 

The  pell-mell  of  the  fight; 
Be  it  b^T  night,  be  it  by  day, 

It's  a  ticklish  job  all  right. 

A  ticklish  job!    Ah  yes;  that's  why 

A  message  is  mostly  sent 
Not  by  one  messenger  alone; 
Three  runners  bear  it,  each  on  his  own, 

To  guard  against  accident. 

It  fell  on  a  time  that  a  messenger 

Was  shot  on  his  outward  race; 
That  meant  a  battalion's  strength  wiped  out 

In  a  couple  of  minutes'  space; 
Plans  had  been  changed,  and  no  one  knew 

Of  the  change  where  the  thing  took  place. 

Private  James  Miller,  called  to  take 

A  message,  and  bring  back 
An  instant  answer,  at  any  cost, 

Started,  nor  loth,  nor  slack; 
Shot  thro'  the  body  at  once,  he  held 

His  hand  on  the  gaping  wound, 
Went  and  returned,  brought  the  reply, 

And  fell  dead  to  the  ground. 


Better  the  luck,  and  not  less  the  pluck, 

Of  Lawrence  Mallery, 
Who  ran  the  gauntlet  not  once  nor  twice, 

And  ran  it  triumphantly; 
For  he  lived  to  tell  the  tale,  and  see 

The  fruit  of  his  ministry. 

Perils  by  sea,  on  land,  aloft, 

From  U-boat,  bomb  and  shell — 

Thro'  these  our  heroes  fight  their  way, 
As  it  were  thro'  the  Gates  of  Hell; 

It's  all  for  the  sake  of  Motherland, 

And  their  Mother  loves  them  well. 

She  doesn't  forget  their  fealty — 

The  faith  that  their  blood  has  sealed; 

James  Miller's  deed  claimed  the  V.  C.; 

And  the  medals,  won  by  Mallery, 
Bear,  graven  upon  the  shield, 

Legends,  as  of  a  Magnificat — 

This,  "For  Distinguished  Conduct":  that, 
"For  Bravery  in  the  Field". 

Britons,  nay  all  true  hearts,  are  proud 

Of  such  fine  gallantry; 
It  gives  us  back  our  hopes  in  man, 

Our  faith  in  his  destiny; 
It  flashes  a  vision  upon  our  eyes 
Of  an  Earth  redeemed  by  self-sacrifice: 

Of  a  new  Humanity. 


24 

Some  Keepsake 

(Sergt.  R.   Downie,  V.   C.,  Royal   Dublin  Fusiliers.) 

'LL  bring  you  a  keepsake,  wife" — said  he — 

"A  trophy  of  war,  from  France; 
But  it  won't  be  a  German's  helm,  you'll  see, 
And  it  won't  be  a  Uhlan's  lance". 

He  went  to  the  war,  and  he  fought  the  Huns, 

And  bombed  them  merrily; 
Was  never  another  of  Britain's  sons 

A  starker  Kelt  than  he. 

It  fell  on  a  time,  in  a  fierce  attack, 

That  the  British  line  was  checked; 
Some  units  wavered,  and  some  fell  back, 

And  the  t)lan  of  assault  seemed  wrecked. 

But  Downie — his  officers  all  were  dead — 

To  the  answer  of  rousing  cheers, 
Sang  out:  "'Come  on,  the  Dubs",  and  led 

The  charge  of  his  Fusiliers. 

Wounded,  he  still  pressed  on:  smote  down 

In  his  rush  Hun  after  Hun: 
Captured  a  quick-firer  on  his  own, 

Nor  stayed  till  the  post  was  won. 

On  leave  of  absence  from  the  strife, 

He  came  to  his  ain  countrie, 
And  brought  the  keepsake  to  his  wife. 

What  was  it?    O,  the  V.  C. 


25 

A  Man  of  War 

(Pte.  T.  A.  Jones,  V.  C.,  Cheshire  Regt.) 

*  t'-pODGER" — it  hardly  seems  a  name 

1     To  claim  a  place  on  the  scroll  of  fame; 
Tis  a  hero's  title,  all  the  same. 
He's  Thomas  A.  Jones  officially, 
But  "Todger"  's  the  name  that  he  goes  by. 

"If  I'm  to  be  killed,  well,  killed  I'll  be 
Fighting,  not  digging  a  trench" — said  he; 
So  he  sallied  forth  like  an  errant  knight, 
In  search  of  some  venture  would  mean  a  fight. 

And  first  he  made  for  a  near-by  spot, 
Whence  a  sniper  was  shooting  shot  after  shot; 
He  got  that  sniper  at  the  cost 
Of  a  hole  in  his  helmet — inch  high  at  most. 

A  white  flag  waved  next  caught  his  eye, 
And  two  shots  showed  that  it  was  a  lie; 
He  stalked  that  pair,  and  got  them  too; 
And  then  he  pondered  what  next  to  do. 

A  little  farther  some  dug-outs  lay; 

So  he  quietly  strolled  to  the  entrance-way, 

And,  meeting  an  English-speaking  Hun, 

Said — as  he  covered  him  with  his  gun — 

"You  tell  your  mates  to  come  along, 

For  the  Tommies  are  on  them,  5,000  strong". 

When  his  mates  came  up,  they  found  that  he 
Was  herding  a  goodly  company; 
For  he'd  got  just  five  score  Huns  and  two 
Paraded  all,  as  for  a  review. 


26 

In  a  bit  of  a  hollow  stood  the  crowd, 
Corralled,  hands  up,  completely  cowed; 
He'd  bidden  them  file  out,  one  by  one, 
And  drop  their  arms,  and  had  seen  it  done; 
He'd  collared  them — every  mother's  son. 

His  comrades  rounded  them  up,  of  course, 

But  his  was  the  all-compelling  force; 

His  stark  audacity,  his  stern  voice, 

The  bombs  that  he  grasped — all  fixed  their  choice. 

On  leave  of  absence  from  the  fray, 

He  came  back  home  for  a  holiday; 

Foe  never  saw  his  back,  but  he 

Showed  it  to  friends,  and  that  shamelessly; 

For  Runcorn  town  was  all  out  to  greet 

Its  hero  with  acclamations  meet; 

But  he  just  scuttled  down  a  side  street, 

Nor  stayed  his  flight  till  he  had  won 

By  backways  home,  and  burst  in  u^on 

His  parents — a  bashful,  and  breathless  son. 

The  Call  of  the  Drum 

(Drummer  W.  Ritchie,  V.  C.,  Seaforth  Highlanders.) 

E  is — his  portrait  seems  to  show — 

A  lad,  or  little  more; 
Yet  by  his  garb  and  drum  we  know 
Him  for  a  man  of  war. 

What  could  he  do  that  he  should  wear 

Victoria's"  Cross  to-day — 
The  Cross  that  falls  to  a  picked  few 
For  deeds  of  lordliest  derring-do, 

Done  in  the  heart  of  the  fray  ? 


H 


27 

Ah,  well — we  think  of  a  stripling  pair, 

Jakin  and  Lew  by  name, 
Thro'  whom  the  "Fore  and  Aft"  put  off 

That  soubriquet  of  shame, 
And  became  once  more  the  "Fore  and  Fit" — 

Title  of  well-earned  fame. 

His  officers,  in  the  storm  and  stress 

Of  a  hotly  pressed  attack, 
Had  fallen,  and  units,  leaderless, 

Or  faltered,  or  held  back. 

Ritchie — the  thought  was  all  his  own — 

Sprang  to  a  Hun  trench-mound, 
And  standing  there,  erect,  alone, 
Beat,  and  re-beat,  the  "Charge";  not  one 
Of  the  British  hearts  in  that  battle-zone, 
But  leapt  to  the  magic  sound. 

Above  the  roar  of  bombs  and  guns, 

Rang  from  the  parapet 
That  haughty  challenge;  and  all  the  Huns 
Fell  back,  as  the  wave  of  old  Scotland's  sons 

Swept  on  with  the  bayonet. 

• 

The  trench  was  carried;  this  business  done 

To  his  mind,  he  was  content 
To  carry  messages  to  and  fro, 
Wherever  his  duty  bade  him  go 

Thro'  the  hell,  till  the  day  was  spent. 

That's  why  he  wears  Victoria's  Cross — 

This  lad,  and  is  worthy  o't; 
Our  admiration  is  half  amaze 
To  think  that  he  lived  to  wear  his  bays; 

But  he  did.    'Tis  a  bonny  Scot! 


28 


Off  the  Breton  Coast 

AS  the  Huns'  submarine  campaign 
Went  on  its  gruesome  way, 
A  U-boat  Captain  sought  to  claim 
Place  in  Gehenna's  roll  of  fame 
By  sinking  fisher-boats — a  game 
Easy  to  win  as  play. 

He  hung  about  their  fishing  ground, 

And  sank  them  one  by  one; 
The  boats  were  lost;  the  crews  were  drowned; 
Thus  he  fulfilled  his  daily  round, 
His  role,  of  infamies,  and  found 

Work  worthy  of  a  Hun. 

And  so  this  monster  of  the  deep 

Wrought  havoc  day  by  day, 
Until  the  Hyacinthe-Yvonne, 
A  coaster  from  les  Sables  d'Olonne, 

Cut  short  his  game  for  aye. 

Not  a  big  boat,  not  iron-clad, 

Was  Hyacinthe-Yvonne; 
Yes,  but  she  bore  a  useful  gun — 
A  gun  that  pumped  shells  on  the  Hun, 

And  was  his  doom  anon. 

'Twas  a  grim  fight;  the  coaster's  crew 
One  moment  held  their  breath; 

For,  firing  hard,  the  submarine 

Shot  her  beneath  the  water-line, 
And  wounded  her  to  death. 


29 

They  didn't  stop  for  that;  they  fired 
A  shell  that  turned  the  day; 

It  dealt  the  U-boat,  just  below 

Her  conning  tower,  a  fatal  blow; 

She  tried  to  dive,  but  failed,  and  so 
Just  stuck,  perforce,  half-way. 

Then,  as  she  hung,  stern  up  in  air, 

Bows  under  sea,  her  hull 
Served  as  a  target  for  French  shells, 

And  got  them  fair  and  full. 

Five  minutes  settled  her  hash;  what  of 

The  Hyacinthe-Yvonne  ? 
O,  she  sank  too,  but  not  till  she 
Had  seen  the  Huns'  catastrophe; 
And  all  her  gallant  company 

Were  saved — aye,  everyone. 

So  perish  all  the  miscreants 

Who  play  the  pirate's  game! 
Theirs  be  the  murderer's  short  shrift, 
The  murderer's  doom  no  plea  may  lift, 
Aye,  and  his  deathless  shame! 

In  the  Bay  of  Biscay 

A 

THE  fishers  of  1'Ile-d'Yeu— old  men 
All,  and  infirm — the  stark 
And  young  were  fighting  in  the  fray — 
Saw  signals  of  distress  one  day, 
Hoist  by  a  freighter  in  the  Bay; 
They  manned  the  life-boat  right-away, 
And  made  sail  for  the  barque. 


30 

Torpedoed  by  a  Hun  U-boat 

The  ship  was  all  awash; 
The  life-boat  reached  her,  and  anon 
Took  off  the  seven — the  rest  were  prone — 

Who  had  survived  the  crash. 

They  turned  and  headed  for  the  shore — 

This  little  company; 
Ah,  but  the  wind  was  now  a  gale — 
A  gale  they  fought  without  avail — 
That  tore  away  their  mizzen  sail, 

And  swept  them  out  to  sea. 

Two  days  and  nights,  with  never  a  sup 

Of  water  or  a  bite, 
They  battled  against  wind  and  wave, 
And,  facing  aye  a  watery  grave, 
Did  all  that  stout  old  hearts  and  brave 

Might  do  in  parlous  plight. 

On  the  third  day  at  last^they  made 

The  shore  of  Finistere; 
But  only  eight  were  left  to  tell 

This  tale  of  grit  and  dare — 
This  story  how  a  dozen  old  men 

Stuck  it,  and  bluffed  despair. 

What  was  she  after — this  Norse  barque, 
That  lies  beneath  the  main? 

All  innocent  of  guile  or  war, 

From  neutral  shore  to  neutral  shore, 

A  neutral  ship,  she  simply  bore 
Food  for  the  folk  of  Spain. 


31 

Dark  lies  the  shadow  of  that  crime 

Upon  the  coward  Hun; 
Yes,  but  perhaps  it  makes  more  bright, 
More  splendid  to  our  watching  sight, 

The  fame  those  heroes  won. 

I  think  that,  when  le  Role  d'Honneur 

Is  brought  up,  le  bon  Dieu 
Will  rank — because  they  died  to  save, 
Or  dared  for  others'  sake  the  grave — 
Among  the  bravest  of  the  brave 
The  Old  Men  of  Plfe-d'Yeu. 


In  the  Straits  of  Otranto 

(A  Ballad  of  the  French  Fleet.) 

AS  it  fell  out,  in  the  world-war, 
An  Austrian  submarine 
Torpedoed^,  in  the  full  moonlight, 
A  ship,  Leon  Gambetta  hight, 
That  off  Cape  Leuca  watched  that  night 
The  French  blockading  line. 

Upon  the  cruiser's  bridge  there  stood 

Captain  and  Admiral; 
They  couldn't — the  dynamo  was  wrecked — 

Send  out  a  wireless  call; 
The  lights  went  out;  the  engines  stopped; 
And  the  great  ship  heeled,  and  her  port  side  dropped, 

As  a  boat  before  a  squall. 


32 

What  did  they  do?    Their  one  thought  was 

For  the  ship's  company; 
The  Captain  set  himself  to  make 

The  ship  ride  evenly; 
The  Admiral  shouted  to  the  men, 

And  his  voice  rang;  cheerily. 

"Steady,  my  children!     To  the  boats!" 
He  cried;  "They  are  for  you; 

Nous  autres,  nous  restons!" — so  he  saw 

His  duty — saw  it  as  a  law 
Of  honour — and  did  it  too. 


Many  were  left,  for  boats  were  few; 

Ah  well,  their  countenance 

Changed  not;  "Courage!",  they  cheered — the  cry 
Rose  as  a  paean — "We  shall  die 

Together!    Vive  la  France!" 

Not  seven  score  of  the  cruiser's  men 

Were  saved  to  fight  again; 
Five  times  as  many  loyal  hearts 

Went  down  beneath  the  main; 
Officers,  one  and  all  of  them, 

Were  numbered  with  the  slain. 

/   \  / 

Senes  and  Andre,  Admiral 

And  Captain,  aye,  and  ye — 
Or  officers  or  men — who  faced 

That  grim  catastrophe, 
Nor  flinched,  truly  ye  were,  and  are, 

A  valiant  company. 


33 

To  France  your  lives  were  consecrate; 

For  France  ye  laid  them  down; 
The  heroes  of  the  Birkenhead 

Share  with  you  their  renown; 
Aye,  and  amid  the  gallant  dead, 

Ye  wear  the  patriots'  crown. 


A  Ballad  of  the  Grand  Fleet 

(Com.  Loftus  W.  Jones,  V.  C.,  R.  N.) 

THE  heart  of  the  old  balladist 
For  Withering-ton  was  woe, 
Who,  when  his  legs  were  hewn  in  twain, 
Upon  his  knee  still  fought  amain, 
Nor  yielded  to  the  foe. 

And  what  but  woe  can  our  hearts  be, 

A-thinking  of  his  death, 
Who,  as  he  fought  in  Jutland  Bay, 
Fought  on  with  one  leg  shot  away, 
And  cheered  his  men  to  their  last  fray, 

And  his,  with  dying  breath  ? 

Full  half  his  company  were  slain; 

His  ship  was  sinking  fast; 
Propped  up  by  his  last  gun,  he  helped 

To  serve  it  to  the  last; 
It  was  a  grim  five  minutes — that — 

An  agony  as  it  passed. 


34 

His  ship  went  down,  and  with  her  went 

Her  Captain  and  her  crew; 
But,  'ere  the  waves  closed  o'er  the  Shark, 
Her  last  torpedo  found  its  mark, 
And  a  Hun  ship  sank  too. 

Ah,  gallant  Jones,  it  seemed  to  you, 

And  yours,  a  simple  thing 
To  do  your  duty,  and  to  die 

For  'Country  and  for  King. 

The  world  has  need  of  such  true  souls, 
Wherever  they  have  their  birth; 

They  are  the  soul  of  chivalry, 

Aye,  and  the  very  salt,  perdie, 
And  leaven  of  the  earth. 

Our  heart  is  woe  for  British  tars 

O'er  whom  the  Atlantic  rolls; 
Yes,  but  it's  also  proud  to  know — 
Proud,  aye,  and  thankful  too,  I  trow, — 
That  Britain  breeds  such  souls. 


Hail!  Canada 

Strong  and  sweet  as  the  Maple-tree: 
That's  what  your  emblem  bids  you  be — 
The  leaf  that  figures  your  quality: 

Sweet  with  the  sweetness  of  loyalty, 
Of  honour,  of  sincerity, 
Of  cheerful  generosity: 


35 

Strong  with  the  strength  of  constancy, 
Of  pluck,  of  patience,  of  energy, 
Of  grit  that  defies  adversity: 

That's  what  your  emblem  bids  you  be. 
How  have  you  answered  its  call  and  plea  ? 
By  deeds  of  chivalrous  gallantry. 

In  the  great  fight  for  liberty, 

All  the  Dominions  valiantly 

Stood  by  their  Mother,  the  Old  Countree, 

Aye,  but  when,  as  she  stood  at  bay, 
She  called  her  children  to  the  affray, 
Who  but  -Canada  led  the  way  ? 

Sweet  and  strong  as  the  Maple-tree: 
That's  what  your  emblem  bids  you  be; 
Aye,  and  it's  what  you  are,  perdie. 

AUTHOR'S  NOTE— As  I  cannot  find  any  symbolic  meaning 
attached  to  the  Maple-leaf  of  Canada,  I  have  had  to  invent  one — 
"Sweetness  and  Strength".  The  Oak-leaf,  as  representing  the 
Oak-tree,  symbolizes  Strength.  Why,  then,  should  not  the  Maple- 
leaf  figure  the  characteristics  of  its  parent  tree— one  of  the 
strongest  of  trees,  and  the  source  of  Maple-sugar? 


Our  Dead 

WHAT  shall  we  say  of  those  who  gave 
Their  lives  at  Britain's  claim, 
Nor  held  them  dear  so  they  might  save 
Their  Motherland's  fair  fame: 


36 

Who  fought  and  fell  for  kith  and  kin, 

For  Freedom  and  the  Right; 
To  whom  disloyalty  was  sin, 

And  Justice  more  than  Might? 

From  the  Homeland  and  from  afar, 

Across  the  seas,  they  came; 
The  blood-bond  drew  them  to  the  war — 
That,  and  the  British  name. 

Now,  of  the  hearts  that  beat  so  high, 

Many  are  stilled  for  aye; 
And  lives  that  seemed  too  young  to  die, 

Too  dear,  have  passed  away. 

Shall  we  deplore  them?     Hearts  are  rent, 
And  weeping  were  no  shame; 

Nay,  they  are  lift  above  lament; 
Paean,  not  dirge,  they  claim. 

As  Hellas  in  the  olden  days 

Bent  o'er  her  gallant  dead, 
And  gave  them — not  her  tears,  but — praise, 

We  dry  our  tears,  half  shed; 

And  with  the  thanks,  the  grateful  praise, 

Of  those  he  died  to  save, 
We  lay  a  wreath  of  deathless  bays 

Upon  each  hero's  grave. 


Dedicated  to  Our  Men-at-Arms 


WAR-BALLADS 

and 

VERSES 


Second  Series 


BY 

WILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS 


SAN  BERNARDINO,  CALIFORNIA 
THE  BARNUM  &  FLAGG  COMPANY 

1918 
Copyright 


A   TV umpe t- Call 

JVl  ARCH,  march,  sons  of  Columbia; 

March  to  the  front  where  the  Hun  stands  at  bay ; 
What  is  Columbia's  motto  ?    "Justitia 

Omnibus".    Make  it  your  slogan  to-day. 

March  to  the  goal  that  lies  splendid  before  you — 
Peace  with  security:  tyranny  slain; 

March  to  make  answer  to  cries  that  implore  you, 
"Give  us  our  homes  and  our  freedom  again". 

March  to  exact  from  the  foe  reparation 

For  the  foul  wrongs  he  has  done  to  the  weak; 

March  to  bring  in,  thro'  this  great  tribulation, 
Justice  and  Order — the  day  of  the  meek. 

March,  march,  sons  of  America; 

Answer  not  only  to  bugle  and  drum; 
Hark!  to  your  hearts  speaks  a  tuba  angelica; 

Gabriel  calls,  and  his  summons  is  "Come". 


Contents 

Page 

A  Trumpet-Call  3 

A  Battle-Hymn  , 7 

Volunteers  8 

Mercuries    9 

Non  Nobis  10 

Stet  Capitolium  11 

Fiat  Justitia  12 

A  Valley  of  Shadows 13 

Une  Orpheline  14 

The  Dear  Old  Duster 16 

The  Red  Triangle , 16 

Lost  and  Found i 18 

Bellator   Equus    20 

The  L.  B.  D/s 21 

Goiod  Samaritans  22 

Near  Gouzeaucourt  23 

A  Testament  23 

Ad  Inferos   ...  24 

Pocket- Anakim    25 

Rome 26 

Greece    .' 27 

Generosa  Virago  28 

At  Cuinchy  29 

A  Royal  Fusilier „ 30 

Dardan  Bay  31 

A  Volcano  32 

Some  Private  33 

Meditation    ,, 34 

Laconics     34 

A  Stowaway  35 

Pro  Patria 35 

NOTE.— For  details  of  facts  see  The  Times  History  of  the  War; 
Americans  at  the  Front;  The  Irving  Age,  Nov.  11,  1916;  The  Battle 
Glory  of  Canada;  The  British  Californian,  March  and  May,  1918; 
The  Square  Jaw. 


A  Battle-Hymn 

\A/HEN  Israel,  in  the  days  of  old, 

Against  oppressors  drew  the  sword, 
What  stirred  their  hearts,  and  made  them  bold  ? 
This — that  the  war  was  of  the  Lord. 

When  Jesse's  stripling  son  defied 

Goliath's  vaunts,  and  laid  him  low, 

"The  battle  is  the  Lord's",  he  cried, 

And  slung  the  stone  that  slew  the  foe. 

Our  war  is  of  the  Lord,  and  clear 

Sound  in  our  hearts  those  battle-words; 

Fighting  for  God,  we  will  not  fear 

Aught,  for  the  issue  is  the  Lord's. 

LORD  of  Sabaoth,  at  our  side 

Marshal  the  armies  of  the  sky; 
So  shall  we  smite  the  despot's  pride; 

So  shall  we  break  all  tyranny. 

The  Cross  on  Calvary  was  a  sign 

Of  war — war  waged  for  Truth  and  Right; 
Under  that  sign  we  fight;  'tis  Thine 

Own  cause;  be  Thine  own  strength  our  might. 

'Tis  in  Thy  name  we  join  the  fray — 
This  earnest  of  earth's  final  strife; 

Lord  of  all  power,  be  Thou  our  stay; 
Lord  of  all  being,  be  our  Life. 


8 

Volunteers 

"  HEY  passed  from  the  Foreign  Legion 

To  the  Aviation  Corps: 
From  the  service  of  Ambulances 

To  trench-work  at  the  fore; 
What  was  the  voice  that  called  them  ? 

What  sent  them  to  the  war? 

Not  their  own  country's  peril; 

No  harm  had  touched  her  yet; 
With  some  'twas  the  bond  of  kinship — 

Race-ties  they  could  not  forget: 
With  others  a  sense  of  duty 

To  the  land  of  Lafayette. 

These  claims,  and  the  like,  constrained  them, 

And  fired  their  chivalry; 
But  the  thought  of  thoughts  that  swayed  them 

Was  the  love  of  Liberty, 
And,  blent  with  that  love,  a  passion 

Of  generous  sympathy. 

And  so,  ere  the  Great  Republic 

Had  marshalled  her  war-array, 

Not  less  than  fifty  thousands 

Of  her  sons  had  found  their  way, 

As  Ambulance-workers,  airmen, 
And  soldiers,  to  the  fray. 

The  old  Crusading  spirit 

Is  quick  in  each  gallant  soul; 


Their  names  With  the  names  of  Heroes 
Stand  linked  on  one  muster-roll; 

The  Firstfmits  of  the  Nation, 

They  have  sanctified  the  Whole. 


Mercuries 

less  at  home  in  upper  air 

Than  upon  land  or  sea, 
Our  airmen  ride  the  storm  and  cloud, 

And,  wheresoe'er  they  be, 
They  do  their  stunts,  and  dare  all  risks 

As  part  of  their  industry. 

Risks? — Aye,  each  moment  they  affront 
Death,  and  it  makes  no  odds; 

They  take  all  chances  as  they  come — 
These  dauntless  pteropods;  * 

'Twas  of  such  stuif  as  this,  I  guess, 
Were  fashioned  the  demigods. 

Like  birds  they  soar;  like  birds  they  glide; 

Like  birds  they  mount  and  swoop; 
Not  tumbler-pigeons  can  outvie 

Them,  for  they  loop  the  loop; 
They  dive  to  a  hostile  plane,  and  'tis 

As  the  rush  of  an  eagle's  stoop. 

The  army's  eyes,  they  are  its  scouts, 

And  its  intelligence; 
Their  bombs  on  enemy  trench  and  lair 

Fall  as  a  pestilence; 


10 

But  never  a  woman,  never  a  child, 
Has  hurt  from  their  offence. 

Airmen  of  the  embattled  hosts, 

Who  fight  for  Liberty, 
Lords  of  the  air  are  ye,  as  are 

Our  sailors  of  the  sea; 
With  fleets  and  armies  shall  ye  share 

The  triumph  of  victory. 

*  An  epithet  of  Hermes,  whom  the  Romans  called  Mercurius. 


Non  Nobis 

fc  4  J   ET  not  him  that  putteth  on  his  harness  boast 

himself  as  he, 

Who,  as  victor,  puts  it  off",  exulting  in  his  victory — 
Thus   of  old   did   Israel's  monarch  teach   Benhadad 

modesty. 

A  *  sfc  >K  % 

"Make  you  ready  for  the  battle,  for  your  battle  is 

toward; 
Aye,  but  as  the  stripling  David  faced  Goliath's  spear 

and  sword; 
Not  with  braggart  word  or  action,  but  as  soldiers  of 

the  Lord. 

"Other  men  have  borne,  are  bearing  still,  the  burden 

of  the  fight; 
Think  of  them  as  those  whom  duty  led  to  battle  for 

the  Right; 


11 

Count  it  honour  that  with  them  you're  called  to  break 
tyrannic  might". 

*  *  *  *  * 

That  is  what  the  heart  and  conscience  of  the  Great 

Republic  say; 
That  is  how  she  bids  her  children  arm  them  for  the 

far-off  fray. 
Answer,  children, — "God  be  with  us,  and  we'll  fight 

for  Him  for  aye". 


Stet  Capitolium 

\A/HETHER  he  sings  of  high  romance, 
Or  hymns  the  everlasting  Sire, 

Or  suits  his  lay  to  choral  dance, 

Or  scourges  forms  of  base  desire, 

Or  paints  the  lady  of  his  choice, 

Horace  is  still  a  living  Voice. 

Your  sweetly  smiling  Lalage, 

Whose  spirit  turned  a  wolf  to  flight, 
Your  little  farm  by  Tivoli, 

Bandusia's  fountain  crystal-bright, 
Your  haunts,  your  hospitalities — 
Horace,  they're  all  before  our  eyes. 

Orbilius  flogged  you  when  at  school; 

You  have  our  fullest  sympathy, 
For  we  remember  a  ferule, 

That  smote  us  oft  and  lustily; 
Would  it  had  gotten  into  us 
A  measure  of  your  genius! 


12 

You  sang  how  Regulus  put  aside 

The  crowds  encumbering  his  return, 

Refused  his  wife's  kiss,  and  denied 

Her  plea  with  answer  curt  and  stern; 

"Rome  must  be  saved;  let  cowards  die" — 

We  hear  it  yet — that  naught  reply. 

How  Paulus  and  how  Cato  died, 

Too  staunch  to  fly,  too  proud  to  yield; 
How  stout  Marcellus  turned  the  tide 

Of  war  in  many  a  foughten  field: 
How  yeomen  played  heroic  parts — 
You've  stamped  it  all  upon  our  hearts. 

They  left  their  farms  to  fight;  they  braved 
All  pains  of  death;  and,  if  they  fell, 

What  mattered  it,  so  Rome  were  saved? 
Her  weal  safeguarded,  all  was  well. 

The  State  must  stand,  tho'  men  may  die — 

That  was  Old  Rome's  philosophy. 

You  made  them  household  words — the  names 
Of  those  who  fought  and  fell  for  Rome — 

And  you — your  memory  lives,  and  claims 
Place  at  their  side  in  every  home; 

Your  bones  lie  on  a  Roman  hill, 

Horace,  but  you  are  with  us  still. 


Fiat  Justitia 

[  MPERIAL  Rome  has  passed;  she  had  her  day, 

And  did  her  work — a  work  that  gives  her  place 

Amid  the  names  that  stand,  and  shall  for  aye 
Stand,  in  the  story  of  our  earthly  race. 


13 

States  have  their  rise  and  fall,  as  man  is  born 

And  dies;  but  what  they  do  for  Truth  and  Right, 

That  does  not  die;  quick  as  a  seed  of  corn, 
It  lives  and  rises  and  renews  its  might. 

Rome  had  her  faults,  but  of  one  quality 

Her  vision  was  true  vision;  for  she  saw 

What  justice  means  and  claims,  and  that  is  why 
All  later  law  is  built  upon  her  law. 

She  fell  because,  as  she  grew  old,  she  grew 
False  to  that  vision,  and  made  tyranny, 

Not  Right,  her  aim,  till,  eaten  thro'  and  thro' 
By  vice,  she  forfeited  her  empery. 

The  empire  of  the  Huns  shall  fall,  and  fall 

Because  it  mocks  at  truth  and  righteousness, 

Because  its  watchword,  "Deutschland  above  all", 
Is  but  a  cry  of  pride  and  selfishness. 

Justice  demands  that  it  should  fall — demands 
That  "frightfulness"  and  lies  and  the  offence 

Of  crimes  that  break  the  peace  of  peaceful  lands 
Should  be  requited  with  stern  recompense. 

It  means  a  long,  grim  struggle — means,  maybe, 
That  Armageddon's  battle  is  toward; 

Yet  shall  the  Right  prevail,  and  presently 

Shall  bring  in  the  Millennium  of  the  Lord. 

A   Valley  of  Shadows 

THERE'S  a  strip — a  shifting  strip — of  land 

Called  "No  Man's  Land";  it  lies 
Betwixt  two  hosts;  on  either  hand 
War  sets  its  boundaries. 


14 

You  may  hear,  as  you  pass  over  it, 
The  breath  of  dead  men's  sighs; 

You  may  hear,  as  from  Abaddon's  pit, 
The  moan  of  dying  cries. 

It's  a  hell;  it's  no  man's  land  indeed; 

It's  swept  by  shot  and  shell; 
Ghosts  haunt  it;  evil  spirits  speed 

O'er  it;  aye,  it's  a  hell. 

Yet  soldiers  cross  it  as  they  haste 

To  charge  the  enemy; 
Doctors  and  Chaplains  make  its  waste 

A  field  of  ministry. 

Death's  shades  brood  o'er  that  wilderness; 

Its  turf  is  a  blood-stained  sod; 
Aye;  yet  it  may  be  none  the  less 

A  stage  to  the  Mount  of  God. 


Une  Orpheline  de  France 

"*  HE  troops  of  France,  forced  to  retire, 

Had  crossed  the  Somme  canal;  a  maid 
Opened  the  sluice  gates,  under  fire, 

And  for  a  day  the  Huns  were  stayed. 

She,  when  the  foe  passed  thro'  next  day, 
Remained,  and,  wheresoe'er  she  found 

A  wounded  son  of  France,  straightway 
Bore  him  to  shelter  under  ground. 

One  crippled  man  she  nursed  ancl  fed 

For  days;  the  Huns,  by  an  ill  chance, 


15 

Caught  her  and  doomed  her;  "Do",  she  said, 
"That  which  you  will.     I  am  of  France". 

A  shell,  just  in  the  nick  of  time, 

Scattered  hard  by  its  bric-a-brac; 

It  stopped  the  Huns'  intended  crime; 

They  fled,  and  then  the  French  were  back. 

She  went  on  serving  France,  despite 
All  risks — now  guiding  a  patrol, 

Now  helping  sufferers;  naught  could  fright 
Her  dauntless  heart,  her  steadfast  soul. 

She  stood  for  France  against  the  Boche; 

For  this  la  Legion  d'Honneur 
Claimed  her — this  maiden  sans  reproche, 

Aye,  and,  as  was  Bayard,  sans  peur. 

They  gave  her  too  la  Croix  de  Guerre, 

In  token  of  her  gallantry, 
Who  for  her  Motherland  could  dare 

All  things,  nor  reck  if  she  must  die. 

Who  was  this  girl  of  girls  ?     Was  she 
Jeanne  d' Arc's  reincarnated  shade? 

Well,  who  shall  say?     She  claimed  to  be 
Just  a  French  lass,  a  village  maid. 

While  France  can  breed  such  maids  as  this — 
Daughters  as  valiant  as  her  sons — 

She  need  not  fear  the  rage,  ywis, 
Of  seventy  million  million  Huns. 


16 
The  Dear   Old  Duster 

I  I  PON  the  banner  of  our  land 

As  tho'  three  Saints  stood  hand  in  hand, 
Three  Crosses,  linked  in  union,  stand. 

They  image  more  than  what  we  see, 
For,  like  the  shamrock's  leafery, 
They  figure  threefold  unity. 

Saint  George,  the  prince  of  England's  knights: 
Saint  Andrew,  guard  of  Scotland's  rights: 
Saint  Patrick,  who  for  Ireland  fights: — 

These  three,  who  bore  the  Cross  that  they 
Might  be  its  soldiers,  day  by  day 
Stand  in  the  forefront  of  the  fray. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder,  side  by  side, 
By  their  one  faith,  one  hope,  allied, 
They  face  all  mischief,  and  abide. 

Ah!     Choir  of  Saints,  you  bid  us  be 
Ever  and  aye  one  company, 
Ever  and  aye  a  Unity. 

The  Red  Triangle 

I  NTO  the  trench,  over  the  parapet, 
And  the  land  that  no  man  owns, 

With  bomb,  with  rifle,  and  with  bayonet, 
Goes  Tommy,  and  makes  no  bones. 

He's  ready  for  any  job,  no  matter  what, 
That  duty  bids  him  do; 


17 

He  tackles  it,  sticks  it  out,  is  on  the  spot, 
And  sees  the  business  thro'. 

He  does  his  bit  in  trench  and  in  dug-out; 

Then  needs  and  gets  a  rest; 
Rested  he's  ready  for  another  bout, 

And  keen  to  do  his  best. 

But  where  shall  he  find  rest — not  rest  alone 

Of  body,  but  rest  of  heart  ? 
That's  where  the  Red  Triangle,  on  its  own, 

Came  in  and  played  its  part. 

Then  the  Church  Army  followed;  East  and  West 

These  twin  Societies 
Comfort  war-weary  men,  and  give  them  rest 

By  tireless  ministries. 

Back  from  the  firing  line  the  fighters  trudge, 

Half  dazed,  half  sick  of  life, 
Just  longing  to  forget — forget  the  sludge, 

The  stress,  the  din,  the  strife. 

They  reach  the  Recreation  huts,  and  there 

Find  letters,  book-supplies,. 
Games,  music,  hours  of  prayer,  and  everywhere 

Kind  words  and  friendly  eyes. 

There's  magic  in  the  change  of  thought  and  scene; 

Strained  nerves  regain  their  tone; 
There's  no  more  worrying  over  what  has  been, 

Or  what  is  to  be,  done. 

Red  Cross  and  Red  Triangle,  signs  are  ye 
Of  noble  things  and  blest; 


18 

And  soldiers'  "Welcomes" — huts  or,  it  may  be, 
Just  tents — are  of  the  best. 

Honour  to  all  who  serve  this  ministry! 

Honoured  not  least  be  they 
Who  saw  the  need,  saw  its  insistency, 

And  met  it  right-away. 

Lost  and  Found 

OYS  from  the  slums  of  London,  where  squalor  and 

crime  belong, 
Taken,  and  trained  to  the  tempers  of  souls  that  are 

clean  and  strong: 
Taught  that  they're  sons  of  Britain,  and,  as  Britons, 

must  do  no  Wrong: — 

They  have  answered  to  call  and  training;  they  have 

learnt  to  love  the  Right; 
They  are  keen  to  do  their  duty,  and  to  do  it  with  all 

their  might; 
And  now  for  Old  England's  honour  they  have  gone 

forth  to  the  fight. 

They  have   passed  to   the   Front  in   thousands,   and 

have  proved  their  mettle  there; 
On  war-ships,  in  the  trenches,  in  the  navies  of  the 

air, 
You  may  find  these  boys  from  Slumdom — here,  there, 

and  everywhere. 

Look  at  the  Roll  of  Honour;  their  names  stand  side 

by  side 
With  the  names  of  Britain's  heroes,  who,  whether 

they  yet  abide 


19 

Here,  or  have  crossed  the  border,  are  her  glory  and 
her  pride. 


Or  look  at  scenes  of  battle — Mons,  Vendresse,  La 

Bassee, 
Loos,  Neuve   Chapelle,  Armentieres,   Hill   70,   Suvla 

Bay- 
Each  spot  can  tell  of  our  Slum  boys — how  they  bear 

them  in  the  fray. 


There  are  Orders,  badges,  crosses,  and  medals,  for 

gallantry — 
Distinctions  marked  by  letters  that  are  titles  of  high 

degree ; 
Have  Slum  lads  won  such  titles  ?     Aye,  up  to  the 

proud  V.  C. 


Left  to  their  old  surroundings  in  the  slums  of  Lon- 
don Town, 

Into  what  sort  of  manhood  would  these  same  lads 
have  grown? 

Would  it  have  been  a  manhood  or  honour  and  fair 
renown  ? 


O    Mission    Schools   of   London,    or   wherever    your 

"forts"  may  be, 
The   Slum  lads,  that  you  rescued  by  your  patient 

ministry, 
Shall  rise  up  in  the  Judgment,  and  shall  bless  your 

memory. 


20 


Be  Hat  or  Equus 

A   WAR  of  engines,  of  machinery, 

Of  tanks  and  submarines, 
Of  battleships,  airplanes,  artillery, 

Of  bombs  and  shells  and  mines— 

That's  what  war  is  to-day;  man-power,  of  course, 

Must  work  each  instrument, 
Aye,  and  must  fight;  but  the  war-engine's  force 

Rules  the  arbitrament. 

But  what  was  it  that  led  in  old-time  wars 

The  way  to  victory? 
Ask  the  Scots  Greys;  ask  Vivian's  Hussars: — 

That's  Waterloo's  reply. 

But  where  shall  the  war-horse  find  work  to-day  ? 

How  can  he  charge  a  foe 
Hid  underground  ?     How  can  he  burst  his  way 

Thro'  barbed  wires  set  arow? 

Ah  well,  the  destrier  waits,  tho'  he  has  done 

His  bit  now  and  again, 
The  while  his  rider,  lance  and  sabre  gone, 

Afoot  hurls  bombs  amain. 

Meantime  who  drags  the  lumbering  guns  along, 

Thro'  swamp  and  water-course, 
Where  tractors  cannot  pass — who  but  the  strong, 

Patient  artillery-horse  ? 

War-horses  of  the  Entente,  among  the  days 

To  come  will  be  your  day; 
We'd  like,  if  ever  the  Uhlans  face  the  Greys, 

To  be  not  far  away. 


21 


The  L.  B.  D.  's 

I   ITTLE,  black-coated—yes,  but  not 

Devils;  and  yet  the  old-time  name, 
The  Indians  gave  them,  has,  I  wot, 
A  certain  aptness  all  the  same. 

It  spoke  of  dash,  insistence, .grit; 

Outmatched  and  beat  at  their  own  game 
The  Indian  braves  acknowledged  it 

In  this  terse  phrase,  not  all  of  blame. 

In  the  first  year  of  the  world-war, 

Ere  yet  the  Huns  had  started  gas, 

The  L.  B.  D.'s  went  to  the  fore, 

To  face  whate'er  might  come  to  pass. 

What  came  to  pass  was  a  foul  blast 

Of  poisonous  fumes,  a  noxious  stench 

That  choked  and  dazed  them;  not  less  fast 
They  held  the  line;  none  quit  the  trench. 

Next  came  the  Boches,  as  thick  as  fleas, 

Thinking  the  trench  was  now  their  own; 

Gasping  for  breath,  the  L.  B.  D.'s 

Rose  to  their  feet,  and  mowed  them  down, 

All  that  day  long,  with  never  a  spell 

Of  rest,  they  fought,  nor  budged  an  inch; 

Storm  after  storm  ;of  shot  and  shell 

Smote  them,  but  could  not  make  them  flinch. 

Bidden  retire  they  disobeyed 

The  order.    Why  ?     Because  they  knew 
A  counter-push  was  to  be  made; 

They  meant  to  back  it,  and  see  it  thro'. 


22 

At  last  reliefs  came;  not  till  then 

Did  they  fall  back  for  a  change  of  air. 

That's  how  the  Winnipeg  Riflemen 

Interpret  still  their  nom-de-guerre. 

Good  Samaritans 

l-I  OW  do  the  dogs  of  Belgium  fare 
In  the  changed  order  of  today  ? 

Well,  where  their  masters  are,  they  are; 
Many,  that  is,  are  in  the  fray. 

As  war-dogs  some  are  scouts,  some  bear 
Orders,  some  watch  against  the  foe; 

In  fact,  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
Wherever  the  army  goes,  they  go. 

Some  have  dragged  pom-poms  to  the  Front; 

Some  are  attached  to  Red  Cross  Corps; 
And  these  are  trained,  and  learn,  to  hunt 

For  soldiers  wounded  in  the  war. 

One  of  them  finds  a  "casualty" — 

Hid  by  his  own  act,  or  by  chance — 

Picks  up  his  cap,  and  instantly 
Carries  it  to  the  Ambulance. 

Then,  nurse  or  doctor  following, 

It  leads  to  where  the  sufferer  lies, 

And  so  brings  help  to  him;  the  thing 
Is  just  a  round  of  charities. 

S.  Bernard  would  have  ioved,  I  wot, 

These  dogs,  and  set  them  by  his  own; 

Nay  more,  they  share — why  should  they  not?- 
The  Good  Samaritan's  renown. 


4  fc 


23 

Draught-dogs  of  Belgium,  you  seem 

To  make  it  almost  possible 
To  count  the  'old-time  Indian  dream 

Well-nigh,  if  not  quite,  credible. 

Near  Goazeaucourt 

OYES,  they  were  cooks  and  engineers, 

And  it  wasn't  their  job  to  fight; 
But  the  Hun  broke  thro',  and  a  British  post 

Hard  by  was  in  parlous  plight; 
So  they  picked  up  rifles,  and  did  their  bit 

To  hustle  him  back  all  right. 

They  coioked  his  goose,  they  blazed  broad  trails 
'Thro'  the  thick  of  the  charging  mob; 

They  stood  at  the  fighters'  side  and  fought, 
"Tho'  it  wasn't  at  all  their  job, 

Till  supports  came  up,  and  the  Prussian  rush 
Died  out  like  a  dying  sob. 

They're  handy  men — the  men  who  hail 

From  far  Columbia's  shore; 
If  ever  I  get  cut  off,  or  left 

In  the  lurch,  by  a  chance  of  war, 
Give  me  a  bunch  of  such  boys  as  these — 
Cooks,  engineers,  whatever  your  please — 

For  at  need  they  are  sons  of  Thor. 

A   Testament 

JV\  ON  corps  a  terre,  mon  ame  a  Dieu,  mon  coeur 

a  France" — so  ran 

The  soldier's  will — his  testament  found  by  the 
Ambulance; 


24 

It  lay  beneath  Ms  fingers,  at  the  side  of  the  dead 

man — 

Mute  witness  that  his  dying  thoughts  were  to 
the  last  of  France. 

"Mon  coeur  a  France".    Is  there  a  thing  more  won- 
derful on  earth 

Than  the  deep  love  of  Motherland,  the  passion- 
ate reverence 
That  draws  and  binds  her  children  to  the  Country  of 

their  birth, 

To  fight  for  her,  and,  if  need  be,  to  die  in  her 
defence  ? 

Ah  France,  such  sons  as  this  are  your  true  glory  and 

your  pride; 
Aye,  and  your  hope — the  promise  of  a  better, 

brighter  day; 
With  such  a  brood  about  your  knee,  or  weal  or  woe 

betide, 

You  shall  be  France  the  Beautiful  for  ever  and 
for  aye. 

Ad  Infer os 

"THRO'  hell  to  heaven",  said  one,  "there  lies 

A  way",  and  our  Immanuel, 
When  He  reopened  Paradise, 

Passed  to  it  thro'  the  gates  of  hell. 

Out  of  war's  hell  there  runs  a  path 
For  suffering  souls  and  innocent, 

And  victims  of  man's  lust  and  wrath 
Find  it  a  pathway  of  ascent. 


25 

Daughters  and  babes  of  Belgium, 

Sent  thro'  a  hell  by  brutal  Huns, 

Be  of  good  hope;  your  martyrdom 

Sets  you  by  Bethlehem's  little  ones. 

In  the  Great  Father's  kind  embrace 

They  passed  beyond  all  death  and  sin; 

The  fiends  who  wronged  you— well,  their  place 
Is  Tophet,  with  their  kith  and  kin. 


Pocket-  Anakim 

"PANTAMS"?— Well  yes;  they're  undersized 

^In  thew  and  bone,  in  girth  and  height; 
Yet  each  is  an  epitomized 

Edition  of  a  stalwart  knight. 


They  fight  for  all  that  they  are  worth; 

Play  all  the  warrior's  role  of  parts; 
And  you  may  search  the  whole  wide  earth 

In  vain  for  pluckier,  stauncher  hearts. 

All  honour  be  to  them  who,  when 

Officialdom  had  turned  them  down, 
Claimed  right  to  serve  as  fighting  men 
The  Land  which  claimed  them  as  her  own. 

There's  a  division  of  them  now 

Fighting;  and,  by  whatever  name 

They  go,  they've  proved  themselves,  I  trow, 
Of  the  true  mettle,  "thorough  game". 


26 

Rome 

"*  0  rule  the  nations  with  a  lordly  sway: 

To    spare    the    conquered    and    war    down    the 

proud — 
That  was  Rome's  rule  of  action  in  her  day 

Of   might,   when   to   her   will    the   whole   world 
bowed.  \ 


Yet  her  dominion  was  no  tyranny; 

Its  peace  was  not  the  peace  of  dull  despair; 
It  made  for  order  and  for  equity; 

That  Law  should  be  obeyed,  that  was  its  care. 


It  helped  to  civilize  the  world;  it  bore 

Its  part  in  the  uplifting  of  mankind; 

It  won  its  triumphs  not  alone  by  war, 

But  by  the  arts  too  that  inform  the  mind. 


Revealed  and  pictured  in  her  world-wide  sway, 
Her  Genius  is  her  true  panegyrist: 

For  what  she  did  and  taught  prepared  the  way, 
And  ushered  in  the  kingdom,  of  the  Christ. 


It  was  her  last  great  triumph  when  her  war 

Clashed  with  "The  Scourge  of  God",  and  hurled 
him  back; 

Shade  of  Aetius,  lead  her  sons  once  more 

To  meet  and  break  the  selfsame  foe's  attack. 


27 

Greece 

(June  29,  1917) 

A  T  last,  at  last,  ye  join  our  war, 

Sons  of  historic  Greece; 
At  last;  why  came  ye  not  before, 
But  chose  inglorious  peace  ? 

Not  yours  the  fault,  ye  say;  your  king 
Reckoned  himself  the  State, 

And  deemed  the  people's  voice  a  thing 
Entirely  out  of  date. 

Well,  it  was  so;  the  moral  is 

Have  rulers  who  obey 
Your  Constitution's  law,  for  this 

Is  Liberty's  one  stay. 

In  Freedom's  cause  ye  set  at  last 

Your  battle  in  array; 
So  fought  your  forbears  in  the  past; 

So  would  they  fight  to-day. 

Plataea,  Salamis,  Marathon, 
Thermopylae — each  name 

Is  as  a  voice  to  cheer  you  on: 
Is  as  a  call  and  claim. 

Leonidas,  Miltiades, 

Themistocles — your  air 
Is  fragrant  with  their  memories, 

With  breath  of  their  high  dare. 


28 

Fight  as  they  fought,  who  would  not  brook 

The  invader  on  their  coasts: 
Who  flung  themselves,  with  never  a  look 

Back,  on  the  Persian  hosts. 

Ye  Spirits  of  the  mighty  dead, 

Who  kept  fair  Hellas  free, 
March  at  the  Hellene  armies'  hei.d, 

And  win  them  victory. 


Generosa   Virago 

4  A     BRITISH  Nurse  wins   Serbia's  V.   C."- 

Prowess  indeed!    What  for? 
For  faithful  service  in  the  ministry 

Of  the  Red  Cross  she  wore  ? 

Well,  no.     Her  Red  Crusading  ministry 

Was  service  good  and  true — 
Was,  for  that  matter,  as  a  chivalry, 

Faithful  and  valiant  too. 

But  not  as  Sister  Sandes  did  this  brave  soul 

Win  Serbia's  heart  of  hearts; 
'Twas  as  a  sergeant  on  her  army-roll, 

An  Amazon  of  parts. 

For,  when  the  Serbs  fell  back,  recalcitrant 

Against  o'erwhelming  might, 
She  joined  the  Colours  as  a  combatant, 
And  fought  as  heroes  fight. 

"Always  the  first  over  the  parapet" — 
That  was  her  record,  won 


29 

By  acts  of  war — acts  made  with  bayonet 
And  bomb — against  the  Hun. 

The  medal  found  her  in  a  patients'  ward, 

Wounded,  but  full  of  pluck; 
Britons  and  Serbians  will,  with  one  accord, 

Wish  her  the  best  of  luck. 


At  Cuinchy 

(February  1,  1915) 


M: 


ICHAEL  O'LEARY— Irishmen 

Must  name  his  name  with  pride, 
Who  took  one  barricade,  and  then 
Another,  as  in  his  stride. 

Five  Huns  manned  the  first  barricade; 

He  promptly  slew  the  lot; 
Two  of  the  next  cried  "Kamerad"; 

The  other  three  were  not. 

Ten  against  one — big  odds;  natheless 
The  one  man  won  the  day; 

S.  Michael  must  have  helped,  I  guess, 
His  namesake  in  that  fray. 

He  saved  his  mates,  and,  saving  these, 

Saved  the  position  too; 
'Twas  not  mere  death  to  enemies — 

That  act  of  derring-do. 

He  wears  the  V.  C.  for  his  deed, 
And  wears  it  of  his  right, 

For  never  man  in  time  of  need 
Fought  a  more  gallant  fight. 


30 

Land  of  the  Harp,  you  have,  ywis, 
Bred  many  a  doughty  son, 

But  never  a  stauncher  son  than  this, 
Never  a  braver  one. 

Michael  O'Leary,  I  would  state 

That  very  certainly 
I'd  sooner  have  you  as  a  mate 

Than  as  an  enemy. 

A  Royal  Fusilier 

11  PON  the  eternal  scroll  of  fame, 

By  deeds  that  make  old  tales  seem  tame, 
Lance-Sergeant  Palmer  set  his  name. 

What  did  he  do  ?     Nay,  rather  say — 

What  did  he  not  do  on  the  day 

He  broke  the  Prussian's  fenced  array? 

His  officers  had  fallen;  he 

Took  the  command,  and  instantly 

Sprang  to  the  head  of  his  company. 

Under  a  pom-pom's  point-blank  fire, 
He  cut  his  way  thro'  hindering1  wire 
Straight  to  the  goal  of  his  desire. 

That  was  the  trench  wherein  the  gun 
Was  set,  with  many  a  bombing  Hun; 
He,  with  six  mates,  slew  every  one. 

Counter-attacks  soon  came,  and  one, 
The  eighth,  that  came  when  he  had  gone 
After  more  bombs,  brought  back  the  Hun. 


31 

Bombed  off  his  feet,  this  man  of  men 
Rose  up,  rallied  his  mates,  and  then 
Captured  the  lost  trench  once  again. 

Thenceforth  they  held  it;  and  that  stay 

Settled  the  issue  of  the  fray; 

It  saved  the  line,  and  won  the  day. 

Among  those  who,  by  Heaven's  grace, 
Stand  forth  as  champions  of  their  race, 
Palmer,  you  claim  a  front-rank  place. 

Two  words,  upon  your  cross  engraved, 
Show  what  alarms  of  death  you  braved; 
What  shall  they  add  whose  lives  you  saved? 

Dardan  Bay 

GHT  up  the  Dardanelles  he  went, 
'Neath  five  mine-lines  that  barred  the  track, 
Sent  down  a  Turkish  battleship,  spent 

Nine  hours  submerged,  and  then  won  back. 

He  braved  torpedo-boats,  gun-fire, 

A  treacherous  current,  and,  I'm  half 

Afraid,  incurred  the  vengeful  ire 

Of  the  whole  German  Naval  Staff. 

'Twas  their  head-quarters  swept  away; 

Guarding  the  mine-field,  and  by  it 
Guarded,  the  warship  fell  a  prey 

To  one  man's  pluck  and  grit  and  wit. 

He  hurt  no  peaceful  ship;  not  one 

Woman  or  child  was  drowned;  that's  how 
Lieutenant  Holbrook  fought  the  Hun; 

That's  why  he  wears  the  V.  C.  now. 


32 

A   Volcano 

QHE'S  not  a  warlike  country,  but, 

When  Britain  has  to  fight, 
She  fights  amain;  five  nations  put 

Their  strength  into  her  might. 

She  wanted  to  dislodge  the  Huns 

From  some  well-wired  trench-lines; 

She  did  it  with  500  tons 
Of  ammonal  in  mines. 

Up  in  the  air  they,  and  their  guns 
Were  scattered  wide  and  far; 

They  found  themselves,  in  fact — those  Huns- 
Hoist  with  their  own  petard. 

Then  spoke  the  roar  of  British  guns, 

And  forward  to  the  attack, 
Wave  after  wave,  swept  Britain's  sons, 

And  thrust  the  Prussians  back. 

They  rushed  the  line,  the  town,  the  height; 

They  smashed  the  fenced  array; 
And  in  the  centre  of  the  fight — 

Well,  'twas  Ould  Ireland's  day. 

Ah  ye,  whose  cruel  cannons  broke 

A  little  land's  repose, 
Now  shall  ye,  stricken  with  your  own  stroke, 

Find  ye  were  your  own  foes. 

'Tis  from  the  land  you  basely  tore 
From  those,  to  whom  was  given 


33 

Your  pledge  they  should  be  safe  from  war, 
That  you  are  being  driven. 

You've  put  your  trust  in  lawless  might; 

You've  wrought  all  infamies; 
You've  sinned  against  all  Right  and  Light; 

Now  come  the  penalties. 


Some  Private 

UARRY  O'HARA  lay  in  hospital 

Needing  prolonged  repair; 
He  had,  in  fact,  some  seventy  wounds  in  all 
Upon  him,  here  and  there. 

A  Private  in  the  Middlesex  Regiment — 

How  he  got  into  it 
Is  not  quite  clear — he'd  made  it  evident 

He  had  the  "Die-Hards' "  grit. 

A  little  man  as  soldiers  go,  he  yet 

Had  played  a  hero's  part; 
Small  tho'  his  body  was,  in  it  was  set 

A  great,  a  Titan  heart. 

Far  off  he  was,  and  in  a  foreign  land, 

When  the  war- tidings  came; 
He  straight  resolved  that  he  must  take  a  hand 

In  the  great  battle-game. 

He  joined  the  Sikhs  in  India  on  his  way, 

Changing  his  name  to  suit, 
And  so  he  got  to  France,  where  he  and  they, 

Tho'  horsemen,  fought  on  foot. 


34 

Twas  thus  that,  as  he  fought  in  the  front  line, 

He  got  his  wounds,  and  won 
The  Military  Medal — proof  and  sign 

Of  duty  bravely  done. 

The  bond  of  camaraderie  in  war, 

A  bond  no  wrench  can  snap, 
Obliterates  race  differences,  for 

O'Hara  is  a  Jap. 


Meditation 

\A/  ITHIN  the  trenches,  when  there's  nothing  doing, 

He  stands  and  ponders; 
Is  it  to  thoughts  iof  billing  and  of  cooing 

That  his  mind  wanders? 

Within  some  Recreation  hut,  or  maybe 

Tent,  he  sits  scowling; 
Is  it  because  some  French  or  Belgian  baby 

Nearby  is  howling? 

0  no;  altho'  his  sweetheart's  not  forgotten, 

Tho'  babes  may  bawl  out, 
He's  thinking  to  himself — "0  this  is  rotten; 

My  baccy's  all  out". 

Laconics 

LOUR  and  taciturnity 
Are,  as  it  were,  birds  of  a  feather; 
At  any  rate  it  seems  to  be 

Fact  that  they  often  go  together. 


35 

Of  the  first  sailor  Horace  said 

His  heart  was  cased  in  oak  and  copper; 
What  of  the  A.  B.  found  half-dead, 

And  his  report — "We  trimmed  'em  proper"  ? 


A  Stowaway 

fc  fc  I   TRIED  to  get  back  to  the  Old  Oountree", 

He  said,  "ten  years  ago; 
But  they  chucked  me  out  'ere  they  left  the  quay, 

And  used  swear-words  also. 

"To  work  my  passage  was  my  intent, 
And  to  work  I  was  keen  and  fain; 

But  their  language  was  most  impertinent, 
And  I  never  tried 


"I'm  going  back  now  in  khaki  clad, 
And  the  fare  won't  trouble  me, 

For,  tho'  no  longer  a  beardless  lad, 
I'm  to  fight  for  the  Old  Countree". 


Pro  Patria 

pHILDLESS  ?     Ah  yes.    We  had  a  son- 
^   As  fair  a  son  as  one  might  see; 
We  hoped — he  was  our  only  one — 
He'd  never  leave  his  dad  and  me. 

He  might  have  won  to  high  degree 

In  many  things  that  make  men  great; 


36 

Naught  would  content  him  but  that  he 
Should  be  a  soldier  of  the  State. 

Ah  well.    We  let  him  have  his  way; 

He  fell — we  feared  it  would  be  so, 
But,  when  we  think  of  him,  we  say, 

"He  led  the  charge  that  broke  the  foe". 


Dedicated  to  Our  Men-at-Arms 


WAR-BALLADS 

and 

VERSES 


Third  Series 


BY 

WILLIAM  HATHORN  MILLS 


San  Bernardino,  California 
THE  BARNUM  &  FLAGG  COMPANY 

1918 
Copyright 


A  Battle  Prayer 

OLord  of  war,  our  armies  fight 
Against  a  ruthless  tyranny; 
Strengthen,  we  pray,  with  Thine  Own  might 
Their  hearts,  and  give  them  victory. 

0  Prince  of  peace,  bring  in  thro'  war 

The  peace  of  God — peace  all  divine — 

And  may  that  peace  for  evermore 

Keep  us  at  one  with  Thee  and  Thine. 


Foreword 

This  third  series  of  War-Ballads  collects  some 
published  leaflets  and  odd  bits  of  verse,  omitted  in 
the  earlier  series,  and  adds  some  later  verses.  It 
completes  a  set  of  booklets  published  mainly  for  dis- 
tribution to  our  fighting  men.  The  writer,  a  septua- 
genarian, must  now  hand  on  the  torch. 


Contents 

Page 

A  Battle-Prayer  3 

War , 7 

Par  Nobile 8 

Huns  9 

Quousque  ? 11 

Blasphemy    12 

The  Hymn  of  Hate 12 

Crusaders 14 

Romania 15 

Echoes  from  Tooley  Street 15 

For  Valour  17 

Number  One  ...  18 

The  Doom  of  Ahab 20 

A   Self-Accuser   ....  20 

A  Round  Table 21 

Tall  Talk  22 

Vive   la   France 22 

Some  Columbian ...  23 

Grit  v 23 

Verdun  24 

At  the  Front 25 

NOTE. — For  details  of  facts  see  The  Bryce  Report  on  al- 
leged German  outrages  ;  Belgians  Under  the  German  Eagle,  by 
Jean  Massart ;  German  Atrocities,  an  official  investigation,  by 
J.  H.  Morgan  ;  The  New  York  Evening  Sun,  August  10,  1914  ; 
The  Los  Angeles  Examiner,  June  26,  1917  ;  The  Los  Angeles 
Times,  January  26,  1918;  The  Bookman,  March,  1918. 


War 

fct \X7AR" — 'twas  a  soldier  spoke — "is  hell"; 
*  V  Aye,  and  yet  Heaven  itself  once  knew 
War,  when  the  hosts  of  Michael 

Fought  with  the  Dragon  and  his  crew. 

War  waged  by  fiends  is  devilry; 

It's  sin  and  pain  and  nothing  more; 
But  angels,  too,  fight  ceaselessly, 

And  their  war  is  a  holy  war. 

"I  came  not  to  bring  peace  on  earth, 

But  war",  proclaimed  Creation's  Lord; 

As  travail-pangs  shape  for  the  birth, 

His  peace  is  fashioned  by  the  sword. 

All  human  wars  make  misery — 

Anguish  that  Heaven  alone  can  heal; 

Yes,  but  from  out  the  agony 

Spring  better  things;  woe  leads  to  weal. 

The  conscience  of  the  world  acquires 
A  truer  sense  of  what  should  be: 

Learns  to  desire  what  Right  desires: 
Learns  to  love  peace  and  unity. 

And  in  the  end  Right  conquers  Might; 

It  casts  down  tyranny  and  pride; 
The  fight  is  long,  but  there  is  light, 

The  light  of  peace,  at  even-tide. 

Nor  that  alone;  for  they  may  win, 
Who  fight  for  Truth  and  Liberty, 


8 

As  taught  by  war's  stern  discipline, 
A  loftier  humanity. 

They,  who  in  peace  were  ne'er-do-weels, 
In  war  see  what  they  were;  and  then 

A  something  to  their  hearts  appeals, 

That  conquers  self,  and  makes  them  men. 

The  sense  of  duty,  Honour's  claims, 

The  spirit  of  camaraderie, 
The  tempers  born  of  noble  aims, 

Are  as  constraints  to  chivalry. 

Under  the  storm  of  shot  and  shell 

They  find  their  comrades  staunch  and  true; 
It  lifts  them — ah,  if  war  be  hell, 

It  is  a  purgatory  too. 

Evil  is  in  the  world,  and,  till 

Cast  out  by  war,  must  vex  our  life; 

The  Cross  meant  war;  it  means  it  still, 
But  means,  too,  victory  in  the  strife. 

Par  Nobile  Fratrum 

(Written    for    the    British- American    League,    Los 
Angeles.) 

OTAND  side  by  side,  John  Bull 
^     And  Jonathan, 
Serving  a  dutiful 

Service  of  man. 
Union  is  strength;  thus  strong, 

In  the  long  fight 
Waged  between  Eight  and  Wrong, 

Stand  for  the  Right. 


Stand  up  for  world-wide  peace, 

For  Liberty; 
Let  your  names  spell  surcease 

Of  tyranny. 
Eid  every  little  State 

Of  the  grim  fear 
That  foes  may  violate 

All  it  holds  dear. 

Let  your  twin  navies  keep 

Watch  o'er  the  sea, 
And  make  the  vasty  deep 

A  highway  free — 
Free  to  all  argosies 

Bearing  their  stores 
Of  foods  and  merchandise 

To  far-off  shores. 

So  shall  your  influence, 

Your  banded  might, 
Work,  under  Providence, 

A  reign  of  Right. 
So  shall  the  world  become 

A  Unity, 
And  every  hearth  and  home 

A  sanctuary. 


Huns 

T^HEY  murder  babes,  shame  women,  loot, 
Use  poisonous  gases,  liquid  fire, 

Asphyxiating  shells,  and  shoot 

Prisoners,  to  glut  their  lust  and  ire. 


10 

They  mutilate  and  insult  the  slain 
With  foul  and  hideous  outrages, 

Torpedo  harmless  liners,  rain 

Bombs  on  defenceless  villages. 

Women  and  children,  roped,  are  made 
Screens  for  their  firing  companies; 

Red  Cross  and  White  Flag  hang  displayed 
O'er  their  machine-guns  as  disguise. 

Liars  and — well,  there's  mystery 

In  their  idea  that  other  souls 
Will  take  what's  a  transparent  lie 

For  truth,  the  same  not  being  moles. 

No  form  of  "frightfulness",  it  seems. 

Is  practised  by  these  sons  of  blood — 
No  horror  mocking  nightmare-dreams — 

But  Kultur  proves  it  right  and  good. 

Kultur?     Such  culture  is  of  hell; 

It's  all  a  blend  of  sophistries 
And  lies,  a  creed  most  infidel, 

A  cult  of  Mephistopheles. 

The  Pharisees  were  by  holy  lips 

Called  Hypocrites  in  days  of  yore; 

Prussian  hypocrisies  eclipse 

All  theirs,  and,  I  guess,  a  thousand  more. 

One  crowning  act  of  infamy 

Challenged  them,  and  to  them  seemed  good; 
An  English  nurse,  they  said,  must  die. 

She  died.    They  shot  her  in  cold  blood. 


11 

This  is  the  race  that  claims  to  be 

God's  choice,  God's  glory,  and  God's  crown. 
Ah  Heaven,  avenge  the  blasphemy, 

And  cast  this  brood  of  monsters  down. 


Quousque  Tandem? 

IT  seemed  as  tho'  the  Huns  had  reached 
The  summit  of  their  infamies 
When  they  shot  Nurse  Cavell,  and  preached 
A  gospel  of  atrocities. 

They  hadn't;  it  yet  remained  to  wreck 
And  sink — not  trading  ships  alone, 

But — floating  hospitals,  nor  reck 

That  half  the  wounded  were  their  own. 

As  for  the  foul  obscenities 

That  marked  the  track  of  their  retreat, 
Apes  would  have  scorned  such  acts  as  these; 

Fie»4s  had  disdained  such  dirty  feet. 

vik}   i    J^t*' 

Viler  atrocities,  and  yet 

More  vile,  continually  swell 
The  tale  of  their  offence,  and  set 

New  records  on  the  charts  of  hell. 

The  wonder  is  that  all  the  world, 

From  North  to  South,  from  West  to  East, 
Has  not  arisen  in  wrath,  and  hurled 

Destruction  on  the  abysmal  Beast. 


12 


Blasphemy 

THEY  knew  their  emperors  were  but  men — 
And  often  brutes  at  that, 
Who  rose  to  power  thro'  blood,  and  then 

On  blood  and  groans  grew  fat — 
Yet  servile  Romans  deified 

Those  emperors,  and  gave 

Then  Jionours,  such  as  crazy  pride 

Alone  could  seek  or  crave. 

Even  Napoleon,  tho'  he  thought, 

In  mad  pursuit  of  fame, 
To  rule  the  wide  world,  never  sought 

Such  blasphemous  acclaim. 
But  German  bards  now  bend  their  knees, 

In  rank  idolatry, 
And  call  their  Kaiser  "Prince  of  Peace", 

Nor  reck  the  blasphemy. 

Aye,  and  they  name  him  "Lord  of  War" — 

A  title  all  divine, 
And  think  their  hordes,  with  him  as  Thor, 

Will  "conquer  in  that  sign". 
Whose  is  the  fault?     His,  or  the  crew's, 

That  vaunts  his  majesty? 
We  know  not,  but  we  tell  that  Muse 

Her  blasphemy  is  a  lie. 

"The  Hymn  of  Hate" 

ELL  has  no  fury  like  a  woman  scorned" — 
The    poet    must   have    scorned    some    dame,    I 
fear — 


13 

That's  Prussia's  temper  now,  who,  tho'  forewarned, 
Would  not  believe  the  warning,  would  not  hear. 

She  nursed  the  fond  illusion  in  her  soul 

That  Britain's  heart  was  set  on  world-wide  rule; 

She  wished  to  share  that  first,  then  grasp  the  whole, 
And  so  she  broke  the  peace.    0  purblind  fool! 

She  thought  that  Britons  would  stand  idly  by, 

While  upon  Frank  and  Slav  she  worked  her  will ; 

Then  she  would  rest  awhile;  then,  by  and  by, 

Britain  would  have  to  pass  thro'  the  same  mill. 

What  made  her  think  of  Heaven  as  glad  to  be 

Her   tool?      What   robbed   her    of   all    common 
sense  ? 

What  bade  her  lie,  and  reckon  it  piety  ? 
Just  this — a  mad  lust  of  omnipotence. 

Treaties  to  her  were  scraps  of  paper,  worth 

As    bonds    and    pledges    something    less    than 
naught; 

That  Might  is  Right,  that  lordship  of  the  earth 

Is  hers  by  right  divine — that  was  her  thought. 

Therefore,  when  Britain  kept  her  flighted  word 
To  Belgium,  and  refused  the  proffered  bait, 

Britons  became  to  her  a  race  abhorred; 

Her  feigned  affection  turned  to  rancorous  hate. 

That  was  the  inspiration  of  the  hymn 

That  rants  of  English  lies  and  perfidy, 

That  reckons  God  a  Hun,  and  calls  on  Him 
To  punish  England  for  her  treachery. 


14 

Read  in  this  light  it  is  a  hymn  of  praise, 

A  testimonial,  a  certificate 
Of  blameless  character,  a  creed  that  says 

"Falsehood  we  love;  Honour  and  Truth  we  hate". 


Crusaders 

A    RED  CROSS  UNIT  left,  on  dit,* 
**    America  for  France, 
Owing  Asclepios,  it  might  be 
Supposed,  allegiance. 

What  did  they  do  when  they  got  there  ? 

Did  they  request  the  Chief 
To  use  them  anyhow,  anywhere, 

In  ministries  of  relief? 

Not  they.    As  tho'  an  urgent  call 
Claimed  them  for  instant  war, 

They  promptly  'listed,  one  and  all, 
In  the  French  Flying  Corps. 

I  told  the  tale,  half  doubtfully, 

To  an  old  invalid, 
A  strong  religionist;  his  reply 

Came  back  crisp  as  a  creed. 


"A  very  proper  spirit",  he  said; 

"Quite  the  right  thing  to  do" 
And,  as  he  spoke,  his  aged  head 

Wagged  its  full  sanction  too. 


15 

O  Red  Cross  Unit,  Pm  inclined 

To  think  you  must  have  had 
A  notion  in  your  conjoint  mind 

That  was  not  wholly  bad. 

* — at  the  members'  own  cost,  and  before  America 
entered  the  war. 

Romania 

FOUNDED,  some  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 
By  Trajan,  as  a  Roman  colony 
To  guard  one  frontier  of  his  empery 
From  inroads  of  the  Asiatic  foe — 
That  was  your  birth,  Romania,  and,  tho' 

O'erswept  by  wave  on  wave  of  savagery, 
Still  have  you  kept  unbroke  your  unity, 
And  risen  again  from  wrack  and  overthrow. 
To-day  you  fight  for  what  you  deemed  to  be, 
Aye,  and  what  is,  the  Right,  and,  tho'  betrayed 
And  wronged,  have  never  flinched,  never  backed 

down. 

Courage,  brave  heart!    Fight  on,  and  you  shall  see 
Your  hopes  fulfilled,  your  sacrifice  repaid, 
And  your  true  heritage  made  all  your  own. 

August  23,  1917. 

Echoes  from  Tooley  Street 

fc  fc \A7  E,  the  people  of  all  England'" — thus  import- 
W      antly  began 

Some  demand  that  claimed  all  England's  voice 
as  its  authority: 


16 

Something  that  professed  to  better  Magna  Charta's 

scope  and  plan. 

Well,  and  what  men,  and  how  many,  signed  the 
paper?     Tailors  three. 

Cheek  unique?     Well,  no;  we've  got  a  talker  who 

can  match  the  three — 
Nay,  can  go  one  better  than  they  went  in  calm 

effrontery ; 

"We  will",  or  "We  will  not" — thus  he  speaks,  im- 
plying that  the  "We" 

Comes  from  Uncle  Sam  concentred  in  his  per- 
sonality. 

"We  will  send  our  boys",  he  says,  "to  fight  for  Eng- 
land only  when 
She   has   rallied  hers — her   slackers:    there   are 

half  a  million  here, 
Aye,   and   more    at   home — reserves    magnificent   of 

fighting  men". 

"We" — that  is,  he  claims  to  voice  the  will  of  half 
a  hemisphere. 

Not  for  England  is  the  battle,  not  for  Belgium,  not 

for  France; 
Not  for  any  single  nation  do  the  war-drums  beat 

their  roll; 

Tis  the  whole  world's  need  that,  clamant,  bids  Amer- 
ica "Advance", 

And    its    battle-cries    are    "Justice:     Freedom: 
Peace:  from  r>ole  to  pole". 

Aye,  and  she  has  come  to  know  it,  and  is  arming  for 
the  fray; 


17 

Not  for  this   State,  nor  for   that   State,  is   she 

marshalling  her  war; 
Voices  as  of  many  waters  call  her,  and  her  actions 

say 
That  which  bids  all  lesser  voices  hold  their  peace 

for  evermore. 


For  Valour 

EORGE  WILSON,  newsboy,  who  had  been 

A  soldier,  and  had  served  his  time, 
Rejoined  the  Colours,  being  keen 

To  prove  he  hadn't  passed  his  prime. 

He  hadn't;  he  was  at  his  best; 

Aye,  and  that  best  was  good  indeed; 
The  issue  made  him  manifest 

As  stark  in  fight  and  staunch  in  need. 

Hard  by  Verneuil,  his  company 

By  a  machine-gun  was  annoyed; 

He  made  his  mind  up  speedily 

That  the  pom-pom  must  be  destroyed. 

So,  with  one  comrade,  this  true  son 
Of  Mars  set  out  on  his  design; 

His  mate  soon  fell;  Wilson  went  on 
Until  he  reached  the  firing-line. 

He  shot  seven  men  who  worke^d  the  gun, 
Seized  it,  and  turned  it  on  the  foe, 

Till,  all  its  ammunition  done, 

He  reckoned  that  it  was  time  to  go. 


18 

That  wasn't  all;  as  he  began 

To  start  upon  his  homeward  tramp, 
He  spied  a  wounded  rifleman, 

And  bore  him  safely  back  to  camp. 

What  further?     Later  wounds,  alack! 

Disabled  him  from  acts  of  war; 
So  to  his  old  trade  he  went  back, 

And  sells  newspapers  as  before. 

His  life  is  now  a  peaceful  life; 

Aye,  but  he  wears  a  memory 
Of  how  he  bore  him  in  the  strife — 

A  bronze  cross  formy — the  V.  C. 


Number  One 


4  t 


WE'VE  had  soft  soap,  a  lot  of  it,  too  much  of 
it"— be  said— 
"Tall  talk  of  England's  glory,  and  the  winning 

of  the  war; 
"What  we  want  now" — it  came  to  this — "is  beef  and 

beer  and  bread, 

And  talk  of  England's  glory  is  just  soap,  and 
nothing  more". 

0  selfish  soul  and  sordid,  have  you  ever  laid  to  heart 
What  glory  means  to  England?     You  reckon  it 

renown 
In  war,  but  battle-glory  is  glory  but  in  part, 

And  the   glory   of   Old   England   is   a   spiritual 
crown. 


19 

Aye,  it  reflects  the  glory  that  rests  upon  the  Cross, 
Or  that  which  painters  picture  in  the  halo  of  a 

Saint; 

It's  the  glory  of  an  honour,  that  chooses  rather  loss 
Than    gain    won    thro'    dishonour,    gain    that's 
smirched  by  stain  or  taint: 

It  stands  in  the  fulfilment  of  every  promise  plight: 
In  the  service  of  the  duties  to  which  each  soul  is 

born; 
It  takes  for  rules  of  conduct  the  high  laws  of  Truth 

and  Right; 

It  champions  the  weak,  and  laughs  fainthearted- 
ness to  scorn. 

Redress  of  wrongs,  world-peace  secured  against  ty- 
rannic Might, 
The  weal  of  little  peoples,  the  bright  lamp  of 

Freedom  lit — 
This  is  what  England  seeks  that  she  may  keep  her 

honour  bright; 

This  is  the  glory  that  she  craves,  and  you — you 
mock  at  it! 

You  want  your  wages  raised.    Ah  well,  compare  the 

wage  you  get 
With  the  pittance  of  the  soldier  who  is  fighting 

for  your  homes; 
You  are  of  those  who  suffer  least,  and  Justice  will, 

you  bet, 

Lesson  you  pretty  sternly  when  the  day  of  reck- 
oning comes. 


20 

Don't  dare  to  speak  of  England,  as  tho'  in  any  way 
You  represented  what  she  is,  or  wills  that  you 

should  be; 
Speak  for  yourself,  and  for  your  mates  maybe,  but 

do  not  lay 

Upon  your  souls  the  added  guilt  of  a  foul  blas- 
phemy. 

The  Doom  of  Ahab 

AHAB  served  Baal,  and  thereby 
Made  Israel  to  sin; 
He  was  for  his  iniquity 

Cut  off  with  all  his  kin. 

Wilhelm,  the  self-idolator, 

Makes  Germany  to  sin; 
He  dooms  to  Ahab's  doom  therefore 

Himself,  and  all  his  kin. 

The  greater  power,  the  greater  sin, 

The  greater  punishment — 
Aye,  and  the  larger;  kith  and  kin 

May  share  the  chastisement. 

Bane  of  the  Hohenzollern' line, 

Wilhelm,  thy  race  is  run; 
And — word  of  doom  to  thee  and  thine — 

Thy  record  is,  "111  done". 

A  Self -Accuser 

HE  talks  of  Russia's  tyranny, 
Of  France  on  vengeance  bent, 
Of  England's  shameless  treachery. 
And  counts  it  argument. 


21 

He  but  imputes  himself;  each  lie 
Reflects  his  own  foul  guilt; 

His  acts  repeat  the  indictment — aye, 
And  prove  it  to  the  hilt. 

And  yet  he  claims  that  history 
Will  clear  him  of  all  blame; 

Nay,  it  will  lay  Cain's  infamy, 
Cain's  brand,  upon  his  name. 

E'en  now  the  fell  Erinyes 

Are  hard  upon  his  track; 
They  hunt  him — hell's  winged  huntresses. 

And  who  shall  call  them  back? 


A  Round  Table 

ever  the  world-war  began, 
Wall-maps,  designed  for  use  in  schools, 
Showed  on  one  sheet  the  whole  earth's  span, 
And  on  it  Britain,  blazoned  gules. 

They  taught,  those  maps,  that  Britain  meant- 
Not  the  small  British  isles  alone, 

But — a  world-empire,  whose  content 
Embraced  five  nations,  blent  in  one. 

What  then  was  true,  is  yet  more  true 

As  thing  are  now;  Great  Britain  still, 

And  Greater  Britain,  mean  not  two 

Britains,  but  one — one  folk,  one  will. 

Gules,  that  is,  rose-red — mystic  hue 
Of  love,  of  beauty,  of  emprize 


22 

To  champion  innocence,  and  renew 

The  fruits  and  flowers  of  Paradise. 

That  is  the  temper  that  unites 

Them  of  the  British  family 
In  one  great  fellowship  of  Knights, 

Who  stand  for  Right  and  Liberty. 

Tall  Talk 

iron  will"— the  Reichstag's  President 
— "shall  turn  into  deeds". 
Nay;  the  Hun  will,  and  all  its  foul  intent, 
Shall  be  as  broken  reeds. 

"The  sharp  steel  of" — what  he  was  pleased  to  call- 

"The  clean  sword  in  our  hands 
Shall  hew  the  way  to  fortune" — shall  grab  all, 

That  is,  earth's  seas  and  lands. 

For  bombast  and  for  braggadocio 

That  well  might  take  the  cake; 
It  would  perhaps,  but  that,  if  it  were  so, 

The  Kaiser's  heart  would  break. 

Vive  la  France! 

FAIR  France",  we  said;  "Fair  France",  we  say; 
Still  fair  despite  the  outraging  foe; 
The  beauty  that  is  hers  to-day 

Is  not  a  thing  of  outward  show. 

Beauty  of  pluck,  of  chivalry, 

Of  self-devotion,  of  romance — 
All  this  is  hers,  and  bids  us  say, 

"Ah,  qu'elle  est  belle!    Ah,  la  belle  France"! 


23 


Some  Columbian 

HE'D  got  his  pom-pom  just  about 
Rigged  up  upon  its  stand, 
When  a  bit  of  shrapnel  found  him  out, 
And  took  off  his  right  hand. 

The  Huns  were  passing  out  of  range, 
And  it  filled  his  soul  with  ire, 

For  with  one  hand  he  couldn't  change 
His  pom-pom's  line  of  fire. 

What  could  he  do  ?    With  his  left  hand 

He  drew  his  pocket-gun, 
And  shot  till  that  indignant  band 

Came  back  to<  spoil  his  fun. 

Then  his  machine-gun  spoke,  and  threw 
Death  at  them  till  they  fled— 

All  that  could  flee — a  scattered  crew, 
For  most  of  them  were  dead. 

Two  mates,  brought  by  a  happy  chance, 
Found  him,  afaint  with  pain; 

They  got  him  to  the  Ambulance, 
And  he  wants  to  fight  again. 

Grit 

THE  stretcher-bearers  searched  one  night 
A  battle-field  in  France 
To  bring  men  wounded  in  the  fight 

Back  to  the  Ambulance; 
'Twas  grim  work;  all  around  were  lying 
Wounded  and  helpless,  dead  and  dying. 


" 


24 

They  came  to  a  sore-wounded  Kelt, 
Paused,  looked  at  him,  and  said, 

"He's  dead";  but,  as  one  stooped  and  felt 
The  corpse,  it  muttered,  "Dead! 

Not  I;  and"  —  the  voice  grew  almost  strident  — 
I'm  hanged  if  I  mean  to  die".    He  didn't. 

Verdun 

ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass, 

France  has  barred  the  way, 
What  tho'  their  legions,  mass  on  mass, 
Batter  her  fenced  array. 


" 


On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

Ere  they  can  reach  their  goal, 
French  guns  shall  mow  them  down  like  grass, 
And  shake  their  tyrant's  soul. 

"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

Force  cannot  break  a  will, 
Whose  motto,  "Toujours  de  1'audace", 

Makes  France  unconquered  still. 

"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

A  mightier  defence 
Than  bars  of  steel  and  gates  of  brass 

Defies  their  insolence. 

"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

Heroes  of  long-ago  , 
By  blood-bond,  by  1'esprit  de  race, 

Summoned,  confront  the  foe. 


25 


"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

Roland  is  here,  and  mark, 
Where  gleam  her  morion  and  cuirass, 

A  vision  of  Jeanne  d'Arc. 

"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

Not  France  alone  says  "Nay"; 
The  sword  that  turned  the  prophet's  ass 

Is  drawn  for  her  to-day. 

"On  ne  passe  pas".    They  shall  not  pass; 

The  way  by  which  they  came 
Shall  see  them  hurrying  back,  Dieu  grace, 

In  terror  and  in  shame. 


At  the  Front 

* fc  A  DVANCE,  America,  Advance"— 

'"•That  was  the  call  that  rang, 
Thundered  from  Belgium  and  from  France 
By  battle-roar  and  clang. 

The  Great  Republic  heard,  and  yet 

Held  back  from  day  to  day. 
What  made  her  pause  as  loth  to  set 

Her  battle  in  array  ? 

This — that  she  had  not  yet  one  heart, 

One  undivided  soul; 
Self-centred  atoms  stood  apart, 

And  each  had  its  own  goal. 


26 

Aye,  and  old  jealousies  had  place 

In  her  perplexity; 
Not  of  one  mind,  one  will,  one  race, 

Was  all  her  family. 

Peace-prophets  preached.     Europe's  affairs, 
Her  wars,  her  aims,  her  need — 

These  things  were  no  concern  of  theirs; 
That  was  their  old-time  creed. 

Only  the  witness  of  events, 

And  what  men  learnt  thereby, 

Might  weld  these  jarring  elements 
Into  a  Unity. 

It  came.    Hearts  bowed  to  Right's  demand, 

And,  when  the  war-alarms 
Rang  out  at  last  across  the  land, 

A  nation  sprang  to  arms. 

And  now  not  least  of  those  who  fight 

To  beat  the  tyrant  down, 
Whose  battle-words  are  Truth  and  Right, 

Columbia  holds  her  own. 

"Advance,  America,  Advance; 

Come  to  the  front  in  all 
That  makes  for  world-deliverance 
From  111".    That's  Gabriel's  call. 


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